


Immortally Yours

by kissedbydragonfire



Series: Immortally Yours [1]
Category: Timeless (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Canon compliant part has some AU references, Darkest Timeline, F/M, Garcia Flynn Deserved Better, Lots of smut in the AU part, Multiple Time Periods, Oral Sex, Part AU/Part Canon Compliant (through Chinatown), Sex, Smut, So I gave it to him, Soulmates/Fix it Fic, Time Travel, Tons of death (but it will have a happy ending), Tons of historial figures, garcy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-24
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:14:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 30
Words: 162,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21542068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kissedbydragonfire/pseuds/kissedbydragonfire
Summary: How many times can the same two people fall in love? When it comes to Garcia Flynn and Lucy Preston, the answer is infinite. Join me on a journey through their various lives together.  We will explore tons of famous time periods and certain historical figures will be making appearances throughout. Since this is my fix it fic, you know I'm giving my beloved Garcy a happy ending.
Relationships: Garcia Flynn/Lorena Flynn, Garcia Flynn/Lucy Preston, Lucy Preston/Wyatt Logan (mentioned), Rufus Carlin/Jiya Marri
Series: Immortally Yours [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1857040
Comments: 220
Kudos: 161





	1. Atlantis

**Author's Note:**

> I know Atlantis is a fictional place, (until someone finds it at least), but the rest of the places we will visit will be totally real. It was necessary for a huge plot point, so I hope you don't hold it against me. :-)

Returning home as a conquering war hero never gets old. At least, not to him it doesn’t. He doesn’t enjoy killing, but he’s damn good at it. When the gods bless you with certain talents, you embrace those talents. If you ignore the gifts the gods bestow, you risk incurring their wrath. 

The people line the streets cheering and praising another victory under his command. He’s the greatest commander Atlantis has ever known. He tries not to let it get to his head, but he has his moments. Mostly, he uses his military prowess to intimidate people and impress the ladies. When one hears the name General Flynn, they’re either afraid or in awe. 

They could not have timed their arrival any better. The games are only a week away, which gives him time to rest and enjoy all the pleasures the city has to offer. The capital city of Atlanti dwarves all others on the island in size, beauty and wealth. It is ruled by a central king and council of nine that have been chosen from the different kingdoms on the island. He has no use for their political games. He’s a solider. All he wants to do is fight, drink and fuck. Life is simpler that way.

He and his compatriots make their way towards the palace, scouting the women lining the streets along the way. Unlike some of his men, he doesn’t need to pay for sex. He’s good-looking (a fact he will begrudgingly admit if confronted) and he’s a war hero. Women practically throw themselves at him. Not that he’s much of a ladies man in comparison to some of his men. He’s always been awkward around women; awkward around most people, really. This is why he prefers fighting. He just has to kill, not talk. Yet, he has needs and has been known to satiate those needs when they arise. 

One of his captains eschews the entire scene, preferring to go home to his wife. He would prefer to find a woman to marry himself, but she would have to be a rare woman indeed to catch and keep his eye. He knows the gods will guide his heart in the right direction, he just prays they aren’t subtle about the signs. He doesn’t do subtle very well.

He’s been at war for so long, Atlantis has a new king. He doesn’t really care which one of the council of nine has been elevated to the throne. He fights for his country, not his king. None of them have ever cared about him, as long as he fights and wins.

As he climbs the narrow, circular road to the palace, the selection of available women to spend the night with improves the closer he gets. He’s not any good at this, so he usually lets the women come to him and then makes his choice. Tonight, he needs to attend to his desires, for he’s been at war and then at sea for too long now. He will allow himself a night to revel in debauchery and then he will begin his preparation for the games. 

Most of his men enter through the main gate, but a few of them, including himself, head for the east gate. There are less crowds there, which he prefers, and you can get a better look at the women. To his surprise, the gate is open. The guards on duty stand as still as statues, while a few of his officers drink, cavort and generally make fools of themselves for a bevy of beauties gathering to celebrate.

He is a few steps from the gate when he sees her. He cannot breathe. _It cannot be._ His chest feels as if an anvil just landed on top of him. This woman that stands before him is the same woman who has been haunting his dreams the entire voyage home. _If he didn’t know better, he would think he drank seawater and is hallucinating._ Dark, raven curls spill out of the hood of her cloak, her pale skin glimmering in the moonlight. Her smile is brighter than any sun-filled afternoon. Her lips are as red as the most brilliant coral in all the seas. Her warm, honey-tinged, copper-brown eyes shine like beacons. He is…he doesn’t know what he is. He’s never felt like this before. _Is it possible to feel so deeply from just one look?_

Some of his men are beyond drunk and begin harassing the ladies, causing his “soldier mode” to activate. He breaks his gaze from this vision of beauty and grabs ahold of two of the offending soldiers with one hand. He drags them across the cobblestone and throws them towards the town.

“Get out! Go sleep it off somewhere. You touch another woman tonight and I hear about it, it’ll be the last woman you ever see. _That_ , _I promise_ ,” he threatens.

The men scurry off, stumbling and bumbling down the winding road. He turns back and notices she is standing off to the side with another woman. He reminds himself that he needs to breathe and makes his way inside the palace gates. 

Over the years, the military officers frequented the eastern gate so often, they built a small villa off to the side. This has been his home since he rose up in the ranks, which seems like another lifetime ago, but is more along the lines of twenty years. It’s a blink of an eye in his lifetime, a tiny grain of sand in his hourglass. It is the gift handed down to every single true-born Atlantean: immortality. 

There’s a terrace on the grounds of the villa where the soldiers like to sit and drink. He makes his way up the stone stairs to the second floor terrace and finds a spot in the corner. From this vantage point, he can view most of the other tables, as well as the stairs. He takes the goblet being offered to him and waits to see if she will come up to the villa. It’s the only way he’s going to be able to have a chance to speak to her, not that he probably will. If he speaks to her in the streets and someone sees them, he could be reported for dereliction of duty or accused of being a scoundrel, to put it nicely. But, if she comes inside the villa, no one will say a word. What happens in the villa, stays in the villa.

One by one, he sees all of the other ladies she was with at the gate, but she’s not with them. Perhaps she _is_ a hallucination, ghost, or vision. Then, out of the blue, a voice calls out from behind him.

“Is this seat taken?”

He twists around to see who it is, the voice unrecognizable. He is speechless when he finds her standing there.

“Do you care if I sit with you?” she asks again.

He is only capable of shaking his head and gesturing towards the bench. She sits down next to him, the hood of her cloak still framing her face in shadow. He grabs the arm of one of the villa’s workers as he walks by the table.

“Wine for the lady,” he orders.

“Right away, General,” the man replies, as he rushes back inside the villa.

“You didn’t have to do that,” she states bashfully.

“I know, but it’s no fun drinking alone,” he states with a wink.

She laughs and oh, it’s a beautiful laugh. Adorable really. A servant rushes over and hands her a goblet. The servant bows, as she takes it from his hand and scurries off as fast as he arrived. 

“Cheers to your great victory!” she proclaims, as she hoists her goblet into the air.

He chuckles and raises his as well.

“What’s funny about that?” she asks, as she raises her eyebrow.

“Nothing. It…”

“What? Please tell me,” she begs.

“It amazes me that those who have never fought on a battlefield are always the first to congratulate me.”

The second he says it he wants to take it back. She swallows hard and stares down at her hands. He tries desperately to salvage this interlude.

“I didn’t mean any offense, my lady. It’s just that to me, there is no victor in war, only survivors,” he explains.

She lifts her face and their eyes meet. Her expression changes right before his eyes from embarrassment to concern.

“You’re right. I’ve never thought of it that way, nor have I ever been on a battlefield. It must be awful,” she opines.

“Well, it’s definitely not a pleasure cruise down the Atlanta River,” he answers.

She bursts into uncontrollable laughter and he can’t help but do the same, breaking his stoic exterior.

“What was Egypt like?” she questions with a child-like anticipation.

“Hot, lots of sand, but also brimming with life along their main river.”

“The Nile,” she adds.

“Yes, the Nile. The fact that you know the name is _quite_ impressive, might I add.”

“I like learning about other cultures,” she explains.

“Well then, you would probably like Egypt. There are huge, terrifying beasts that live in and along the river. There are carved temples dedicated to strange gods and even stranger rituals being performed by its priests.”

She is hanging on his every word, listening so intently to his descriptions and experiences. He has no idea what is happening right now. He is conversing with her as if he has known her for a thousand years. The words flow from his tongue like water from a fountain. She is the easiest person to talk to he has ever met. And, they only _just_ met. 

“So, what will you do now?” she asks, as she sips her wine.

“Rest and relax for a little and then prepare for the games,” he replies.

“You’re going to enter the games?” she questions with a bit of shock and awe.

“Of course. It’s what I’m good at. The prize purse is also tempting,” he explains.

“And, I’m sure the glory of being the _champion_ of Atlantis has nothing to do with your desire to participate whatsoever,” she jokes.

He almost chokes on his wine.

“You found out my innermost secret. What ever shall I do now?”

They both laugh again, smiling ear to ear as they stare into each other’s eyes. She’s enthralling, enchanting and riveting in every aspect. He is oblivious to the rest of the world, as they chatter, drink and laugh together about anything and everything for hours. 

Then suddenly, another woman appears at the table, beckoning her to leave.

“I don’t want to,” she answers.

“But, my lady, your father will be searching for you. You must get back,” the woman pleads.

He grabs her hand with an urgency of unknown origin.

“Please, stay,” he beseeches.

“I want to…but I cannot. Father will be furious,” she answers.

She withdraws her hand and the pain and panic that spreads through him is immeasurable. She stands and begins to turn, then stops.

“I would very much like to continue our conversation someday soon,” she exclaims. 

“I am at your leisure, my lady.”

She smiles again and walks towards the archway at the end of the terrace. The other woman grabs her arm and yanks her down the stairs that lead back towards the gate. It is only then that he realizes he forgot one _very_ important fact. He races over to the stairs and screams down to her.

“Wait! I don’t even know your name!”

She stops at the end of the stairs and peers up at him.

“It’s Lucy!”

She disappears into the night like a dream as you wake. If she hadn’t touched him, he would’ve swore up and down that the whole thing _was_ a dream. _Lucy_. He repeats her name over and over again in his head. Beautiful, amazing, Lucy.

He has heard of the concept of soulmates before, though he admits he’s not exactly an authority on the subject. It’s not something that soldiers often discuss. _Could it be possible? Could this woman, this Lucy_ , _be his soulmate?_ He has known attraction and he has known lust, but never love. _Is this what it’s like? Could she just be someone he loves and not his soulmate?_

He sits back down and chugs some more wine, as he ponders on these newly-found and unfamiliar feelings. Soulmates are very rare in Atlantean society, but there have been the legends of the select few. They are bound by ties that no philosopher or medicine man can begin to understand. Sometimes it is in a physical sense, sometimes a mental link. He guesses it’s uncommon since they’re immortals. Perhaps the idea of being stuck with just one person throughout eternity isn’t that appealing to the lot of them. Yet, when he thinks about it, he wouldn’t mind spending the rest of eternity with Lucy. He’s only spent a few hours with her and the loss of her leaving is weighing heavily on him. He needs to learn more if he’s going to figure this out.

He drinks for a little longer, then stumbles to his feet. One of his men tries to tempt him with one of the ladies hanging on him, but he declines. There is only one woman he wants to sleep with, one woman he wants to hold, one woman he wants to love. The soldier puts his arms around both women and wanders off. He turns back towards the stairs and begins to make his way towards them, when one of the villa’s servants stops him.

“General! I-I just wanted to make sure…”

“Spit it out Antonus, what is it?”

“I wanted to make sure you knew the identity of the woman accompanying you this evening.”

He furrows his brows in confusion and stares back at the man.

“She’s the princess. The new king’s daughter,” the servant explains.

“Are you sure?” he questions.

“Yes.”

This definitely complicates things, but it’s not unheard of or impossible. He comes from a respectable family, he has renown and prestige and a bright future. He’d make a valuable ally to any of the royal families. If not, he’s just going to have to wait until her father is no longer king. Kings rule for five years at a time before the council votes to either retain them or elect a new one. He’ll also have to convince Lucy to wait for him. He’s not sure the exact date Lucy’s father’s reign began, but he knows it is very early on and the wait will be unbearable. But, wait he will if he has to.

The king himself summons him the next morning and he panics the entire way there. If someone told him that he was cavorting with his daughter last night, he’s going to have a lot of explaining to do. 

Instead, he receives an introduction to the new king, who just wants to congratulate him on his latest military victory. King Cahillos is a politician and a medicine man by trade. He sat on the council for years before ever having enough votes for the kingship. Now that he has it, he seems to be wasting no time implementing some of the new changes he envisions for the empire.

He may be a soldier, but he’s not a complete idiot. He knows when someone is trying to work him, trying to buy his loyalty or testing his principles. He is no fool, nor is he easily duped or vulnerable to manipulation. He plays along for his own sake, but almost gives it all away when the king decides to introduce him to the rest of the royal family.

His wife, Queen Carolia, is a beautiful woman with an icy stare. But Lucy-Lucy is a vision of light and warmth and love. She acts as if this is the first time they are ever meeting, which confirms she knew who he was when she came to the villa that night. The thought excites him to his core, but he has to play it cool.

After the introductions, the king pulls him aside and asks him if he plans to enter the games. He responds in the affirmative and the king smirks back at him with a pleasing grin. He’s not sure he’s quite happy about that, but for right now, he has to play everything perfectly. He feels as if he’s being inspected by both the king and queen, but he’s not sure what they would be inspecting him for. He doesn’t trust these people. It’s actually shocking that Lucy could be remotely related to them.

“Which events shall you be competing in? I shall of course like to wager on Atlantis’ greatest war hero,” the king announces.

“Javelin, boxing, equestrian and pankration,” he replies with an air of confidence.

“Impressive, most impressive,” the king answers with a sardonic smile.

“No bull-jumping?” the queen asks.

“No, my queen.”

“You’d think a tall man like you would excel at that,” she quips.

“In my younger years, I was decent.”

“If you become a champion and are invited to feast with us, I pray you have something more suitable to wear,” the queen adds with a frown.

He nods. He’ll have to purchase something, because he’s currently wearing his best outfit. He does have a small bit of loot stashed and he’s going to have to dip into it. In fact, he’s also been thinking about using some of it to purchase a necklace for his beloved. She deserves the world and he will do whatever it takes to give it to her. 

He spends the rest of the afternoon perusing the markets for clothing that will not offend the queen’s delicate sensibilities. After he purchases a new tunic, he makes his way down towards his blacksmith friend’s stall. He commissions a silver necklace and matching bracelet. He prays that Lucy will like it. His blacksmith friend, Rufustus, might not be well-known amongst the artisans, but he does superior work anyway, in his humble opinion. 

He returns to the villa and trains for a while, then dines with his fellow soldiers. He’s about to retire to his room for the night, when one of the servants surreptitiously slips him a small piece of parchment. It is a note from Lucy asking him to meet her in the city’s central gardens. The note requests he meet her near the orchids, as soon as the stars are visible in the sky. He paces his room in the villa, then dons a cloak and sneaks out unseen. It’s not necessary for him to sneak around per se, but he would have no reason to visit the gardens this late in the evening. 

He skulks along in the shadows until he makes his way to the central gardens. He finds the section where there are orchids abound and waits. A few moments later, he hears someone approaching from the opposite direction. Her light blue cloak shimmers in the starlight as she gets closer to him. She gestures towards a bench around a bend and they both take a seat. He has no idea what to say right now and she nervously fidgets with the hem of her cloak. 

“I thought-I thought maybe we could continue our conversation from the other day,” she states shyly.

“Sure,” he stumbles.

“I know you’ve been to Egypt. Have you ever been to Akrotiri?”

“I have. It’s on the island of Thera. Do you know where that is?” he questions.

“I do. It’s an island to the far-east. What was Akrotiri like?”

She’s leaning towards him now, hanging on his words again and he just wants to kiss her desperately. 

“It’s has some similarities to here, but they are not as advanced as we are. They are more advanced than most though.”

“What things are similar?” she asks.

“They have aqueducts and baths; and coals under the piping; and blacksmiths and bakers.”

“What do they look like, what do they wear?”

He chuckles and takes her hand in his.

“Lucy. May I call you Lucy?” he questions.

“Of course. That is my name after all,” she laughs.

“Did you really ask me to meet you to talk about Akrotiri?”

She intertwines their fingers together and shakes her head.

“I wanted to apologize for the first time we met. I realized you didn’t know who I was then, but you treated me no differently than anyone else and I-I found that rather refreshing,” she admits.

“I don’t care what your title is. I don’t have any political ambition,” he answers.

“I know you don’t. Which, if I may be so bold, is why I feel drawn to you,” she responds, as her cheeks turn a bright shade of red.

He gently lifts their intertwined fingers and presses a soft kiss to her hand.

“You’re not the only one who feels that way. I am the moth to your flame, the bee to your honey. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you, Lucy.”

She squeezes his hand slightly, as a pink blush spreads across her cheeks once more.

“I have dreamt of your beautiful face every single night,” he admits, as he lifts his hand to gently cup her cheek.

“So have I,” she answers with a look of shock on her face.

They stare at each other for a moment longer. Then, he leans ever so slowly in her direction, giving her plenty of time and opportunity to back away if she wants to. To his utter shock, she leans forward and their lips collide in a soft, tentative, sweet kiss. He pulls back slightly, just enough to glance at her. The pleasing expression on her face gives him the courage to kiss her again. She tastes like sunlight and stardust, half jubilance and half enchantment. He separates only to suck in a much needed breath, then leans in and kisses her nose and the corners of her mouth with a feather-like touch. 

“Is-is this okay-the uh, kissing?” he asks with an underlying fear of overstepping a boundary.

“It’s more than alright. It’s mandatory,” she whispers, as she presses her lips to his with a passionate urgency.

He threads one hand through her hair, as the other clutches her waist. 

“I think the gods may have intervened in our meeting. I’ve never done that before you know,” she confesses.

“Done what?”

“Gone to the villa to celebrate with the soldiers,” she replies.

“I know you haven’t,” he laughs.

“You-you know?” she asks with a puzzled look on her face.

“Of course. There is no way I would not have noticed you if you had. Even when you were trying to hide behind that cloak, I noticed you.”

“I cannot stay much longer. Mother will be searching for me soon I imagine.”

He breathes out a sigh of discontent, as their foreheads press together. 

“If you must. When can I see you again? I _must_ see you again,” he begs.

“I do not know. Perhaps the first night of celebration during the games? My parents are normally a little more lax when they’re celebrating as well,” she suggests.

“I will wait for you, Lucy. I will wait as long as I have to. You have my word,” he promises.

She kisses him once more, then pulls the hood of her cloak up and disappears amongst the orchids in a flash.

There is absolutely no doubt in his mind. He _loves_ her. He loves her and he _cannot_ live without her. He will do anything that is necessary to ensure they are together. _Anything_.

He’s already secured victory in the javelin, boxing and pankration. The only event left for him is equestrian. His main rival has won a few of the other events, including the bull-jumping, which everyone seems to love for some reason that escapes him. Thankfully, equestrian is his best event by far. He was riding before he ever took a step on foot, or so his mother states, so his confidence is relatively high right now. 

Sure enough, he smokes his competition and becomes Champion of the Games. Part of the ceremony of winning the equestrian event is that the champion receives a crown of blue irises. The champion is then expected to offer the irises to the woman of his choosing, as long as she is not married. It is quite a declaration to undertake and most champions tend to err on the side of caution and present the crown of irises to their own lovers.

As soon as he is presented the flowers, his mind goes directly to Lucy. She is the personification of beauty in every sense of the word. Before he can stop himself, he’s riding directly towards her. He slows his horse a few paces in front of her. She is sitting in the high balcony of the amphitheater and there is no way he can physically hand it to her in person. He unsheathes his sword and balances the crown of irises on the tip, as he elevates it towards the balcony. Lucy stands up and bends to retrieve it. He dismounts his horse and bows ostentatiously. The crowd begins to cheer and the king claps, as Lucy places the blue irises onto her head. The queen illustrates her disdain for this gesture quite publicly, but Lucy ignores her mother and smiles back at him. He could get lost in her smile for centuries. It’s as if she’s his personal sunbeam. 

After the pomp and pageantry, Flynn enters the courtyard of the palace as the champion he is. Lucy is there already, standing next to her mother with a serious expression upon her face. The instant she spies him, a blush spreads over her cheeks. The king confronts him before he can even make his way through the crowd. He doesn’t seem upset about giving the flowers to Lucy, but he does ask him about it. Flynn gives him a bogus excuse that he doesn’t have a significant other at the moment, so he felt it apropos to endow the irises to the princess. The king seems satisfied by his response and drags him for too many introductions to the mainstays of Atlantean high-society. 

Finally, after what feels like hours, he manages to escape to a corner and get some much needed space. The feast is in full swing, with plenty of food and drink to go around, music to fill their ears and entertainment to occupy the masses. None of it interests him whatsoever and he strains his neck to search for her in the throngs of celebrants. 

Suddenly, he feels someone gently touch his forearm. He turns to find her, the crown of blue irises gracing her raven mane in a starkly amazing contrast. She slides her hand slowly down his forearm to his hand. She takes his hand in hers, as she tugs him towards an archway that leads to other sections of the palace. She leads him down a corridor, careful to duck out of sight if a soldier or servant passes in their direction. They stop at a door on the bottom level of the palace, and Lucy produces a large, iron key from her skirt. She inserts the key into the lock and opens the door to reveal a storage room for the kitchens filled with bags of grain and barrels of ale. 

She lights a candle by the doorway and shuts the door after he enters. She leans up against the door and pulls him by the wrist towards her. He crowds her space, but doesn’t quite press up against her. 

“Lu-”

He doesn’t even get her entire name out before her lips are on his, as she strains on her tiptoes. This kiss is unlike any other she has given him before, branding and claiming him as her own. _He is totally fine with that._

“I could not wait any longer to kiss you,” she whispers.

“Mmm.”

“You need to ask for a room in the palace. They cannot deny a champion tonight. It’s the only way I can be with you,” she instructs softly.

He nods in acknowledgement before diving back down to her neck. He trails kisses from her neck to her chest. She lets out an excitable gasp and he makes a mental note to do that again later. They proceed to make out for another few minutes, tasting, testing and exploring each other with an amorous fervor the goddess of love would envy. Finally, they part ways, with a promise to find each other again later during tonight’s festivities.

He manages to secure a room in the palace for the night. One end of the palace is still in raucous uproar, yet he chooses a room in the more secluded area. It’s closer to the royal apartments, which means he’s closer to Lucy. He waits in the room for what feels like an eternity, before he hears a knock on the door.

He opens the door and she rushes inside, shutting the door gingerly behind her. He offers her a drink, but she shakes her head seductively and pulls him in for a kiss. His hands skim down her spine, as she presses her body into his.

“Lucy,” he whispers, as he pulls away.

“Why are you stopping?” she asks breathily.

“Lucy, I-I don’t just want your body. You know that, right?”

“I know…but tonight, I want you to want my body. I _want_ to be bedded by the Champion of Atlantis,” she states softly, as she runs her hands up and down his chest.

He bends his knees slightly, grabs her by her thighs and lifts her into the air. She wraps her legs around his waist, as they continue to kiss with the intensity of a sudden sand storm. He pivots towards the bed and softly lowers her onto it. He can taste the sweet wine on her tongue, as she squirms beneath him. She’s clawing at his shoulders and grinding against him. He’s about to lose all control when she starts nibbling on his earlobe. He practically tears her dress trying to get it off of her.

“Someone’s eager,” she teases.

“ _Someone_ has no room to talk,” he responds, as he trails kisses down her neck to her chest.

She tugs on his tunic again and he pulls it over his head before resuming his ministrations. Her skin is as white as porcelain, softer than silk under his calloused hands. She’s a goddess in corporeal form. Every sigh, moan, and gasp urges him further and further down her body, sampling with his mouth, tongue and teeth. 

He is very eager to go already, but his primal need to pleasure her is more compelling. He runs his hand up her inner thigh, while his tongue draws a line up the other. She attempts to grab a hold of his hair, but he moves to her other thigh too quickly. This time, he scrapes his teeth up to her center. She shivers beneath him and he plunges his tongue into her folds. 

She finally grabs a hold of his hair, as she arches her back in response. He adds two fingers and concentrates his mouth on her clit, swirling small, circular patterns. She climaxes in no time after that. He kisses back up her body and dons the widest smirk when he gazes up at her flushing face.

“Flynn,” she whispers.

“Are you alright?” he asks in a panic.

“I think you killed me.”

“Lucy, I didn’t mean to hurt you. I would never hurt you on purpose, you must know-”

She cuts him off with a passionate kiss, easing him onto his back. 

“I meant that in a good way.”

“Lucy, please don’t joke about those things. If I ever hurt you, I would never forgive myself. _Never!_ ”

“You won’t hurt me. I know you won’t,” she responds, as she cups his cheeks in her hands.

“How can you be so sure?” he questions sincerely.

He can promise until the stars fall from the sky that he won’t hurt her, but sometimes things happen or the gods make things happen.

“Because we-oh never mind.”

“What? Tell me?” he pleads.

“It’s silly,” she answers, as her cheeks flush a pinkish hue.

“I don’t care. Tell me,” he prods, as he begins to plant kisses down her neck once again.

“I think it’s our destiny to be together, as if the gods themselves decreed it for eternity.”

Her words overwhelm him, not because of the gravity of them, but because he feels exactly the same way, but hasn’t been brave enough to speak them aloud. He stares at her with such undying devotion he feels as if his heart might burst. 

“Lucy.”

“I told you it was silly,” she replies with a shake of her head before she buries it into his shoulder.

He cups her face and tilts her head upwards so that their eyes meet.

“It’s not silly. I-I feel the same way.”

“You do?”

He kisses her softly, then pulls back and rests her forehead against his own.

“I do, Lucy. I have never felt this way about a woman before. You are my world,” he confesses, as he tucks a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Your world, huh?”

He nods his head, as she straddles him.

“I’m about to rock _your world_ ,” she jokes, as she lowers herself onto him, inch by inch.

“Oh, Lucy!”

She rubs her hands up and down his chest, as she rides him mercilessly.

“You just relax, Champ. Let your woman take care of you,” she states softly.

He rises up to hold her as they rock in rapturous rhythm. After a few minutes, he flips them over and increases his pace.

“Yes, Flynn!”

They finish in unison, another first for the both of them apparently. 

“I love you, Lucy,” he whispers, as he kisses her forehead.

“I love you too.”

They’re together as often as they can be, but it’s still not enough for him. It’s not that they’ve been sneaking around, but they haven’t been open about their relationship either. It’s been over a week since he saw her last, and that was only a glimpse of her in the market with her handmaid. He could only worship her from afar.

Lucy is becoming increasingly convinced that her mother suspects something. In an abundance of caution, she’s been purposefully staying away from the villa. It’s been sheer torture for him. He longs to hold her in his arms and kiss her softly. 

Although it isn’t quite the same, he does see Lucy in his dreams every night. Some nights, they’re so vivid he’d swear to the gods that he had to be awake. This strange connection that they have seems to span time and space, the conscious and unconscious blurring into one the longer they are apart.

Last night was one of those dreams. He was walking in a field of grass, clad in strange garb. Lucy was running towards him, also wearing strange-looking clothes, as a blazing inferno was raging behind them. He held her in his arms, but from behind. Lucy wore a terrified look on her face and he could hear her gasping for breath in his ear. The heat of the blaze was intense and he woke up soaked in sweat. It was unlike any previous dream about Lucy that he had ever had and it worried him. _What did it mean? Were the gods trying to tell him something?_

He needs to see her anyway. He sets sail in the morning to travel to the western part of the island to quell a local skirmish. It shouldn’t take long to deal with, but being so far away from Lucy for any length of time is heart-wrenching. 

He decides to be bold and daring and goes to the palace to try to see her. It’s not unusual for him to be there, especially when they’re about to embark on a military expedition. He pretends he’s there to go over plans to secure the city while he’s quelling the skirmish on the western coast. He learns from one of the guards that the king is indisposed at the moment with a few ladies of his choice, the queen is in her chamber and the princess is in the library. _Perfect._ The library is on the other side of the palace from the royal apartments, so there’s less of a chance he will be caught.

He skulks his way to the library, careful not to rouse suspicion as he moves. Once he arrives at the library, he peeks inside to find Lucy at a desk. She is reading by candlelight, yet the candles are so low at this point, she must have been reading for a while. No one else is in the room, so he slips inside and quietly shuts the door. 

Lucy gazes up at the sound of the door closing, and a wide smile spreads across her face.

“Flynn, what are you doing here?” she whispers.

“I-I had to see you before I left…especially after last night.”

“You mean that strange dream? The one with us standing in a field of fire?” she questions.

“You had the dream as well? I know we’ve shared a few of them, but nothing like that.”

“I do not know what it means. I’ve been in here trying to read up on what some of the elders posited about such things,” Lucy explains.

“I thought you’d at least _try_ to come and see me.”

“I did, but mother has been watching me like a hawk today. After about the fourth hour of me being in here, she gave up and retired to her chamber.”

She stands up from the desk, as they close the space between them. He grips the nape of her neck with a little bit of force, as he kisses her passionately. Lucy wraps her arms around his neck, as she backs them up towards a wall near a stack of scrolls. 

“We have to be quick. Mother or someone else could come looking for me at any moment,” she whispers.

He hates it when they have to rush, when he can’t savor and worship her like he wants, like she deserves. He lifts her up and she wraps her legs around him, as he positions them steadily against the wall. The gasp she lets out when he enters her is heavenly, a sound he wants to hear repeatedly for the rest of her immortal life. He goes as fast as he can, but makes sure she’s enjoying herself as well. They’re both panting at this point, clawing and gasping at each other with wild abandon. He kisses her to keep her quiet when she comes, and he kisses her again a moment later when he does the same. 

They stay entwined for a while, breathing in the other, kissing softly. Suddenly, they hear sounds from the corridor and quickly disengage from each other. Lucy moves with purpose back to her desk and he slides into a shadowed corner towards the back. The door opens and her mother appears, clearly surprised to see Lucy is where she said she’d be.

“Lucy, it’s late. You should get some rest. The scrolls will still be here tomorrow,” her mother instructs.

“Yes, mother. Let me just put these away and I will be right there,” Lucy replies, as she takes a stack of the scrolls from the desk in her arms.

“They will get put back tomorrow. Come now.”

Lucy puts the scrolls back on the desk, blows out the wax remnants that are passing as candles and exits the library. He waits a while before sneaking back out himself. _He hates this. He doesn’t want to sneak around anymore. Once he gets back from the west, he’s not going to._

__

It takes longer than he expects to deal with the skirmish out west, but he makes it back to the capital a while after that. He’s in his room at the villa when suddenly there’s a knock on the door. He opens it to find one of the servants, a hooded figure lurking behind him in the dark corridor. The servant bows, turns and then leaves them standing face to face.

He knows it’s her, even if the cloak hides her well. She practically leaps into his arms, and he pulls her to him as he shuts the door. 

“I missed you,” she declares, as she pushes him towards the bed.

“Not as much as I missed you.”

They make love until the morning light, then lie in bed listening to the rain tap the tiled roof of the villa. This is what he wants all the time. He’s willing to fight with everything he has to get it too.

“Lucy,” he whispers, as he takes her hand in his.

“Yes, my love,” she answers, as she tilts her head to meet his eyes.

He brings her hand to his lips and kisses it softly.

“Marry me.”

“What?”

“Marry me,” he repeats.

“I want to. You know I do, but my parents…”

“They can’t stop us if we elope,” he suggests.

“You want to elope?”

“I don’t _want_ to, but I can’t see your mother ever coming around on me. I know she doesn’t think I’m good enough for you.”

“Then we should elope,” Lucy concurs.

“You’ll marry me? Really?”

“Why are you so surprised? I love you, remember?” she answers, as she pulls him in for another kiss.

__

Lucy decides it will be easier to find a priest or priestess to marry them if they leave town. There’s a town along the Atlanta River, called Bimi, where many couples go to get married. Bimi has a portal, which Atlanteans use to travel back and forth all over the world. It’s how they’ve acquired so much technology and knowledge over the years. They visit other cultures, learn what they can, and bring their knowledge back home. It’s also an easy escape for any couples eloping, since they can get married and take off somewhere far away to consummate said marriage. He has to admit it’s a good plan.

“I’ll need a couple of days to arrange for transportation and for someone to cover for me,” he informs her.

“Okay. You just let me know when and where I need to meet you and I’ll be there,” she answers, as she kisses him lazily.

_They’re getting married. They’re getting married!_


	2. Bimini

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flynn and Lucy elope, but the consequences of their decision become readily apparent.

He arranges everything. He convinces one of his captains to cover for his absence if the king should summon him for any reason. He retrieves more than enough money from one of his caches and hires a ferryman to take them through the canal to the river. From there, they can take one of those pleasure cruises down the Atlanta River to Bimini. If they leave under cover of darkness, they should be able to board the first boat of the morning down the river. They can secure lodging at one of the inns in Bimini, or if they’re feeling adventurous, they can take a quick trip through the portal. The hardest part of this plan will be getting Lucy out of the palace. He prays she can get out on her own accord, but he’s prepared to go get her if he has to. 

The night comes and the anticipation is killing him. He cannot wait to marry her. It’s all he cares about right now. He dons basic traveling clothes and his cloak, and makes his way to the eastern gate. It’s the easiest way to get to the canal unseen, plus it’s also the place where he saw her for the first time.

He waits and waits for what feels like an eternity, his palms sweating in the humid night air. _Something is wrong, he can feel it in his bones. It shouldn’t take Lucy this long._

Finally, he hears movement from the side of the road, and spots Lucy climbing down an ancient goat path. He rushes to help her and once they’re safely hidden in the shadows, he cups her cheeks, inspecting her for any discernable injury.

“Lucy, are you hurt? What happened? What took so long? Were you followed?” he blurts out.

“Slow down. I’m fine. I just had to get a little creative getting out of there unseen, that’s all,” she answers, as she raises her hands to cover his.

He kisses her lips quickly, then grips her hand tighter, as he leads her down towards the canal. He would carry her to the ferry boat himself to make this trip quicker, but that would attract way too much attention. They move as stealthily as they can and make their way to the canal. He finds the ferryman he’s arranged for and they board the boat. He won’t be able to breathe a sigh of relief until they board the river boat to Bimini. He doesn’t want Lucy to see how nervous and on-alert he is, but he must remain vigilant. He loves her too much and they deserve to be happy together. He knows he can make her happy.

Their journey out of the canal is uneventful. They board the boat on the Atlanta River and take a seat on the upper deck. They are halfway there, but he won’t stop looking for potential trouble until the priest or priestess confirms they are indeed wed. Lucy appears to be as anxious as he is and they clutch each other’s hands with dogged determination. The sun is rising and the boat should be departing for Bimini shortly. There is a delay loading some of the passengers’ belongings, but eventually they set sail down the river.

Once they’ve been sailing for a little bit, Lucy gets up and leans over the railing as they pass a couple of villages. He joins her at the rail, his arms wrapping around her waist and pulling her body towards his. He leans in and takes a deep breath.

“Mmm, you smell amazing.”

“You like it? It’s a jasmine perfume.”

“It makes you smell good enough to eat,” he whispers teasingly in her ear.

“Patience, my love. We’ll be able to enjoy each other soon enough,” she replies, as she gives him a quick peck on the cheek.

They stay at the railing for a while, then retire to their cabin for the rest of the afternoon. At sunset, the boat docks in Bimini. They disembark and make their way through the town to the inn he’s prearranged to stay at. The room isn’t much, but it is clean and the bed is large enough to accommodate him. It’s too late tonight to get married, so they’ll stay here and go find a priest or priestess in the early morning.

They settle into the room and he sneaks up behind her as she’s peering out the window. He trails a finger down her back slowly and she closes her eyes and lets out a contented purr. Her back is exposed to him, so he plants his lips there next and trails them down, as he skims his hands up her sides. She leans back into him, as he begins to peel off her silk gown.

“Our last night as single people,” she murmurs.

“Did you change your mind, Lucy?”

She turns around, her gown dropping down her curves to the floor. She skims her fingers along the edges of his tunic and slowly inches it up his body. She gets to his neck and he impatiently grabs the fabric and rips it over his head. His mouth crashes into hers a moment later and she jumps into his arms and wraps her legs around his waist. He carries her to the bed and drops her playfully. Their kisses are wild and desperate, as they flip and twist amongst the sheets. They settle with Lucy on top, straddling him as she drags her fingernails down his chest. Her hand reaches down and finds him already hard for her, but she doesn’t mount him quite yet. She moves her mouth down further and takes him in fully, as her hand strokes his shaft. His hips are already thrusting up into her and he’s grabbing the sheets with both hands as she works him over.

“Oh, Lucy.”

She ignores him and speeds up her pace until she’s sure he’s about to climax. His hands are in her hair and he’s moaning uncontrollably now. He spills a moment later and she licks a stripe up his cock before she finally releases him.

Lucy crawls up his body and nestles into him. She’s made him speechless. He can’t even form a coherent thought right now. He gazes down at her and she’s grinning from ear to ear. They lie in each other’s arms, Lucy absently drawing circles on his chest. Everything is so perfect right now and sensory overload is setting in rapidly. He’s trying to will himself back from the edge of ecstasy, his desire to pleasure her overwhelming him. On the other hand, he is perfectly content to stay just where he is, the love of his life in his arms.

His hand slides down her back to the curve of her ass. Desire is winning out and he kisses her hard, as he shifts himself on top of her. He would love to drag this out, but they do have to get up early tomorrow for their wedding and Lucy has been patient and so very good to him, how can her deny her?

He presses her into the mattress, trailing kisses down her neck to her chest. She’s rolling her hips already, so he wastes no time and slides into her slowly. _Gods, she feels amazing. He will never tire of this feeling. Never._

The next morning, he wakes early and slips out of the room. The last thing he wants to do is leave her, but he wants to make their wedding special. So, he throws his tunic and sandals on and strides out into the morning sun. 

It’s already quite warm for this time of day, but the sea breeze is blowing westerly and provides just enough of a respite to make it tolerable. He strolls down the stone-paved archway towards the Temple of Meriadre. He will make arrangements for them to be wed later on today and offer the goddess a sacrificial token while he is here. 

As he places the shell on the altar, he hears footsteps behind him. He turns slowly and finds the High Priestess striding towards him. It is unusual to see her in the public portion of the temple, since she usually only makes a few public appearances a year for the most hallowed of rites. The inner sanctum, the sacred of sacred, is her customary domain.

“Seeking safe travels on your upcoming voyage?” the priestess questions.

“In a way,” he answers shyly.

He’s not sure why he suddenly feels like a small boy in her presence, but he does. The priestess tilts her head slightly with interest and then grabs his hand out of the blue. 

“Interesting,” she teases in an ominous tone.

“I’m sorry?”

“You have an interesting fate, Flynn,” the priestess responds.

She is still holding his hand, her eyes closed in deep concentration. 

“You have two paths before you.”

“I don’t understand,” he confesses.

“You have two possible futures, two paths to wander down. One will bring you a life of comfort and wealth. An ordinary life for an ordinary man. _But_ , if you choose the other path, you will experience hardship, your faith and resolve will be tested, but you will love so deeply and completely that even the gods themselves will envy you. You must choose. If only one of you chooses this path, it will not be. Only if both of you select to walk this path will it ever have a chance to come to fruition,” she explains.

He’s taken aback by what the priestess prophesizes. He knew that this would not be easy, that Lucy’s family does not believe he is even remotely good enough for her, but this sounds so much more ominous. 

“If you return to the temple this evening, I will know you have chosen. If you do not return, I will also know that you have chosen. Choose… _wisely_ ,” the priestess instructs before turning and strolling back inside the temple’s inner sanctum.

The entire encounter shakes him to his core. This is not as hard of a choice for him as the priestess made it seem. He has never sought to be wealthy or comfortable. If he had, he would’ve become a politician instead of a soldier. A soldier’s life is never either of those. He already loves Lucy with every fiber of his being, his entire soul really. He would cut off a limb, walk through fire, even give his life for her. He is ready and willing to do whatever it takes, face whatever hardship, tribulations or tests the gods throw his way. But, is Lucy? Is she willing to do the same? Does she truly love him as much as she claims she does?

He wanders the city for a few hours, trying desperately to clear his head. Finally, he hurries back to their room, a new found determination thriving within him. When he opens the door, she rushes to him, throwing her arms around his neck.

“Are you alright? Where were you?” she questions, as she inspects him for any signs of visible injury.

“I-yes, I’m fine. I went to the temple to make an offering,” he explains before shutting the door behind him.

“I woke up and you weren’t here and I worried that maybe-maybe you changed your mind and you…abandoned me,” she states in a hushed tone.

It crushes him in the deepest recesses of his soul that she would ever think he could abandon her. He quickly takes her hands in his and guides her to the edge of the bed. They both sit down and he takes one hand and cups her face under her chin. He tilts her head up slightly, his thumb grazing over her lips, as he gazes directly into her eyes.

“Lucy, there is nothing that any god, man, woman, or army could ever do to keep me from you. _Nothing._ I would give my life for you a thousand times over if that’s what it took. I love you and we are fated to be together. Never forget that,” he declares firmly before kissing her with the softest, lightest, feathery touch.

She sighs into his mouth and relaxes into his body.

“So, then what were you doing all day?”

He hesitates, but then lets out a jagged breath. He recounts the events of the morning to her, the priestess’ ominous warning and his afternoon of sorting out his thoughts and feelings.

“What-what have you decided then?” she asks, as her voice cracks a little.

“I do not want to influence your decision. The priestess foretold that we each need to consciously make our choice.”

Her hand reaches up to his face, a slight tremor visible, as she takes his face in her hands. She kisses him passionately, deeply, twisting her tongue around his like a vice.

“I choose you,” she whispers as they part.

“I choose you as well,” he whispers back.

They collapse into each other’s arms, both breathing an audible sigh of relief. 

“I do not care what my family or anyone else says. You are my soulmate, Flynn. My ever-lasting love. I am prepared to fight for it, to die for it, if I must.”

He closes his eyes and bends down to kiss her forehead. They stay like that for a while, foreheads pressing together, gazing longingly at one another. They have both chosen and they will face the consequences together.

A short while later, he waits outside the inn for his bride-to-be. He’s clad in his oatmeal-colored tunic, too afraid to dare wear his military garb for fear it will make them easier to spot. He just has this awful feeling in the pit of his stomach that her family will interfere somehow, some way.

He glances up just in time to see her descend the stairs, clad in her white cloak, her hood up hiding her beauty. He stands immediately and offers his arm, which she gladly takes. They stroll out into the early evening air, the sea breeze kissing their faces. It is more humid than it had been during the day, which makes it utterly delightful when the breeze blows in. 

“Where are we going?” she asks, as he leads her down a stone-paved archway. “The Temple of Amara is this way,” she states, as she tries to pull him in the opposite direction.

“We’re not going to the Temple of Amara. We’re going to the Temple of Meriadre,” he explains.

“Meriadre? Why would we go there? Amara is the Goddess of Love.”

“She is, but I felt Meriadre would be more appropriate for us. The Goddess of Long Voyages. How else do you describe a marriage between two immortals?” he asks with a huge smile.

“Always the thoughtful lover,” she teases, as she squeezes his hand. 

They stroll in the waning rays of sunlight and reach the Temple of Meriadre. Lucy is correct that Meriadre is not as opulent or popular as the Temple of Amara, but it is simple, elegant and pure, just like her. They enter the temple together, hands clasping tighter and tighter as they approach the archway to the inner sanctum. 

A young priestess stops them and directs them to a side corridor. They follow the corridor until they reach a large, red door. He pushes the door open and finds an outdoor atrium, the High Priestess standing in the middle of it. Large braziers surround her, their flames soaring into the amber-hued sky. They step forward and stand in front of the priestess, awaiting their next instructions.

“I see that you have chosen. But, has she?” the priestess questions.

Lucy lowers the hood of her cloak and his heart almost explodes in his chest. She is even more beautiful this evening with her raven hair pulled back from her porcelain skin. 

“I have,” she announces loudly and firmly before shooting him a shy smile.

The priestess holds out a hand and Lucy takes it willingly. A beautiful, silver cuff bracelet with intricate circular patterns adorns her delicate wrist. The flash of the silver distracts him for a brief moment, but then he concentrates on the priestess’ face. The priestess closes her eyes and reads her fate in the same fashion she did with him. Her facial expressions are inscrutable, as she relinquishes Lucy’s hand.

“I agree to bless this union. It’s not every day that I get to officiate a soulmate ceremony, after all,” the priestess states with a smile.

“A soulmate ceremony?”

“Yes. You are soulmates. Not the only pair in our world, but it is so very rare indeed. You will be bound together for all eternity. There is no going back once this is done, which is why I told you to choose wisely,” the priestess cautions.

Lucy unclasps the pin of her cloak and removes it completely. He is quite sure that his jaw dropped to the ground in the next moment. Her gown is pure white, with flecks of silver woven into the silk. It clings to her every curve, except for two slits on the side which expose her thighs. She wears a silver, chevron-shaped necklace and silver, starburst-shaped earrings to compliment her bracelet. If he didn’t know her, he would swear he was in the presence of the Goddess of Beauty herself.

The priestess binds their hands with a crimson ribbon and recites the blessings of the gods. Their eyes never waver or stray from one another the entire time, both fully committing to this union without any doubt or hesitation. 

After the ritual blessing that he is familiar with, the priestess turns her back to them and begins tossing herbs into the brazier. The flames glow an eerie orange as they rise higher and higher. She turns back to face them and instructs them to kiss each other, but to continue to hold onto the ribbon. In fact, she stresses how important it is for them to not let go of it. 

He leans down and as their lips meet, the flames in the brazier shoot up into the darkening sky. A jolt of electricity shoots through him, but it does not hurt. It feels strangely warm and comforting. As their kiss deepens, that same orange glow appears to surround them. As it blankets them, he feels something deep inside of him changing. 

Suddenly, the flames die down to a glowing ember and the priestess announces that they can release the ribbon now. Once they do, they both stare at each other in bewilderment. They are wed. They belong to one another as any other husband and wife do, but they are something so much more.

“What-what was that?” he questions.

“You are soulmates. You have both shared a piece of your soul with the other. You are connected in ways others could and will never be,” the priestess explains.

They practically float along the cobblestones on their return walk to the inn. Both of them are grinning from ear to ear, each eager to consummate their marriage as fast as possible. 

As soon as they enter the inn, he scoops her into his arms and carries her upstairs to their room. When they enter the room, they toast to their union with goblets of wine, as they kiss and sway in each other’s arms. He whispers her name as he kisses along her neck, fiddling with the clasp to her dress as he does so. He undoes the clasp and the dress slithers down her body to the cold, stone floor. She reaches back around her neck to remove her jewelry, but he requests that she leave it on. 

He removes his tunic and they tumble into the bed, limbs entwining as they do. Desperately clawing and grabbing one another, he aligns himself with her entrance and plunges inside. They’ve done this multiple times before, but this feels _different_ , more intense somehow. Lucy must sense this too, because the cry she lets out drives him wild with desire. Every thrust, every bite, every kiss is a thousand times more intense than it was previously. Because of this new development, neither of them last very long. Both of them admit afterwards that it was the most intense orgasm they have ever had.

They are both sound asleep in each other’s arms, when the door burst open in the early morning hours. He doesn’t even have time to process what is going on before two men are dragging him out of bed. Lucy is screaming as she pulls the sheets over her. The men are the private soldiers of the king, which can only mean one thing: her family has found them and they are _not_ happy. Yet, he cannot wipe the smirk from his face. They’re too late to do anything about it. They’re already married.

The Queen strolls into the chamber a moment later, two more men at her side. Lucy gasps in horror and shock as her mother nods her head in the direction of her men. They strike him directly in the stomach causing him to fold over in pain. They force him onto his knees, holding his arms back behind his body. He is still naked, but that does not seem to be cause for alarm in anyone else’s mind besides his own.

“Mother!” Lucy shrieks.

Her mother bends down to the floor, picks up Lucy’s white dress from last night and tosses it at her.

“Put some clothes on, dear. This is embarrassing enough and not very princess-like,” her mother scolds.

“I will do no such thing until you let him go!” Lucy shrieks.

The men continue to hold him in place as the High Priestess’ words ring in his ears. _Hardship_. _Is this the beginning? Is it happening already?_

The Queen moves closer to Lucy, staring down at her with an arrogant air of disgust. Lucy clenches her white dress to her chest, trying desperately to maintain some semblance of modesty in front of the palace guards. 

He could probably take on the two holding him down, but there’s no way he could take all four, at least without a weapon. But, if they threaten to hurt Lucy, he’ll surrender, let them do what they will. He has to protect her. He’s her husband now.

Lucy turns her back to everyone and pulls her dress back over her head. She meets his eyes as she turns back to face the intruders. He does not show her any fear, nor any sign of the pain he is currently in. All he shows her is softness, love and affection. She pushes up onto her knees, as a staunch determination spreads across her face. She leans slightly forward, pointing her finger into her mother’s face. The Queen flinches a minute amount, her daughter’s newfound courage undoubtedly startling her. 

“I _said, let my husband_ g _o_!”

“Husband?” her mother shrieks.

“Yes, my _husband_. We were wed in the temple last evening,” Lucy bellows.

“Lucy, dear, you can’t stay married to a traitor. We’ll take care of this, don’t worry,” her mother placates.

“Traitor?”

It’s the first thing he’s said aloud since they grabbed him in bed. 

“What else would you call someone who tries to overthrow his lawfully elected King with the might of the military?” the Queen snaps.

He lifts his head up further, despite the fact it exerts more pressure on his arms.

“I did no such thing!” he growls.

“Mother, that’s impossible! Flynn would never. I know him,” Lucy pleads.

“He used you, Lucy. You provided him with valuable intelligence on our family, the palace’s defenses and our political goals.”

He doesn’t bother trying to convince the Queen. Lucy might not realize it yet, but he _absolutely_ understands what’s going on here. He’s being set up. 

“Lucy, I would never! I love you,” he vouches.

“I know you wouldn’t. I love you too,” Lucy assures him.

Lucy folds her arms across her chest, staunch and firm in her position on this matter. 

“I refuse to listen or abide by these vindictive fallacies. Release him…now!” Lucy hollers.

Her mother has never seen Lucy like this, of this he’s sure. She’s always been the sweet, pliant princess her mother desires. Now, though, she has a confidence and surety about herself that radiates from her. The Queen narrows her eyes and clenches her jaw. Lucy continues to breathe fire from her nostrils like a raging bull, showing no signs of acquiescence or surrender. 

Suddenly, her mother snaps into action, grabbing a fist-full of Lucy’s hair. She yanks her down to the wood floor with a loud thud, her hand still tangled in Lucy’s locks. Lucy cries out in pain, tears streaming down her face. 

“Lucy!” he roars, as he tries to squirm lose from the soldiers’ grasp. 

Her own mother just threw her around like a child’s doll. Her eyes were as black and lifeless as one as well. _How can she hurt, Lucy? It’s her daughter!_

The Queen wrenches her hand from Lucy’s head, a chunk of raven tresses flying with it. She tilts her head upward slightly, giving another silent indication for her palace guard to spring into action. The other two men jerk Lucy to her feet, gripping both of her arms forcefully. 

“Get him up!” the Queen orders. “And, as much as I would appreciate watching his humiliation, it is not a spectacle that is becoming of a queen or princess. Get some clothes on him.”

A second later, his face meets the ground with a shove from behind. The guard shoves his foot into his back, as the other guard bends over and picks up the tunic he was wearing last night. The next thing he knows, the guards yank him back up by his arms and toss the tunic at him.

“Get dressed,” the guard grumbles.

The other guards are still holding a struggling Lucy. He _needs_ to go to her, take her into his arms and convince her that everything is going to be okay. But, he’s not sure that the Queen won’t hurt Lucy more than she already has, so he doesn’t fight back. He’s almost positive that they won’t kill him here. If they expect to get away with this, they’ll need to make a public demonstration. His name is too great for them to slit his throat and leave him dead in a ditch somewhere. His men would rise up and do exactly what the Queen is accusing him of. No, they need to smear his reputation, manufacture some type of proof of this supposed treason. 

He shrugs the tunic over his head before the guards strike him once again. He stumbles to his knees, but manages to catch Lucy’s eye as he does. Her mother is scaring her, yet she appears to be concerning herself more with his welfare.

The sounds of metal clanging comes from behind him suddenly, as the guards clamp the iron shackles onto his wrists. They jerk him back to his feet, which remain unclad. The Queen steps towards him and plants the sole of her sandal on top of his toes. 

“Confess,” she states sharply.

“Flynn!” Lucy yells, as she again tries to break free of the guards’ grasp.

The Queen squashes her sandal onto his toes even harder, crushing them under her weight. He bites his tongue in order to stop from crying out in pain. 

“Confess!” she commands.

He remains quiet, neither speaking nor attempting to free himself from the guards’ clutches. His reaction is infuriating the Queen. She’s painstakingly trying to get a rise from him and his determination to refuse her wish fuels him. 

She steps off of his foot and back a few paces before nodding to the guards once again. He inhales sharply, as his next beating begins. He suspects it won’t be his last either. 

“Mother stop, please!” Lucy begs and pleads, as the tears continue to drip down her cheeks.

“Confess and all of this pain stops,” the Queen instructs.

He persists in his stoicism, which only serves to enrage the Queen even further. He doesn’t know her very well at all, but he’s dealt with enemies like her before. The only difference is that he’s usually the one in a position of strength. Now, he’s at her mercy. His only saving grace is that his one weakness might just be his enemies’ as well. Lucy is his only weakness, but he seriously doubts her mother would actually, _truly_ harm her. Sure, she pulled Lucy’s hair, but she wouldn’t do much more than that. _At least he hopes so._

The next thing he knows, something hard slams into the side of his head. He stumbles forward momentarily before his chains wrench him back. A warm, sticky sensation spreads across his skull. He doesn’t need to see the blood to know he’s badly bleeding. It creeps down his face and neck before soaking into the shoulder of his tunic. Yet, he still maintains his silence. 

“I can see you’re as stubborn as my daughter,” the Queen states with a huff.

Between the blood seeping into his eye and the Queen in his line of sight, he can’t see Lucy any longer. He can’t hear her struggling or crying either.

“Perhaps, you need some… _encouragement_ ,” The Queen declares, as she raises her right hand up.

It’s obviously some sort of prearranged signal to her men, but not the ones holding him. The Queen slides to the side slightly, providing him a clear view to his beloved. He can only see clearly out of his left eye, but what he can see makes his blood run cold. The guard’s blade is at Lucy’s throat, her body trembling in fear.

He needs to convey that he would do anything to keep her from harm, but he also cannot confess to this farce. He desperately needs her to understand that he does not mean what he is about to say and do. It’s for both of their benefits, but he knows how sensitive she can be. He doesn’t want to give her a scintilla of doubt when it comes to how much he truly loves her. 

He locks eyes with her and tries with all his might to convey the severity of the situation. There is only one way out of this for him, he’s sure of it, but he does his best to remain calm. It’s not for his sake, but for Lucy. He knows that they’re going to kill him, it’s just a matter of time. Being immortal doesn’t mean he’s immune. Sure, conventional weapons of mere mortals are utterly useless, but Atlanteans have secrets of their own. There are weapons here that can kill him and though they are few and far between, he cannot dismiss the possibility that Lucy’s family is in possession of one. He suspects they’ve already used one on him, since the gash in his head continues to bleed. If it had been a normal weapon, he would’ve healed by now. 

“Confess!”

He clenches his jaw and sucks in a deep breath.

“Never!” he growls.

The Queen nods her head again and the guard cuts Lucy’s throat. It’s only a superficial injury, but a good deal of blood still flows down her neck.

“Confess!”

“Go ahead. Do it. I _dare_ you!”

The words turn to ash and poison in his mouth. He means none of it, but he has to convince the Queen that hurting Lucy will not make him cave. Lucy bursts into tears and begins to struggle in vain against the guards’ grasp. 

“Get him out of here!” the Queen yells out in frustration.

The guards drag him towards the door. Just as he’s at the threshold, he locks eyes with Lucy. He winks quickly and she nods her head slightly in return. 

The next thing he knows, his head slams into the wooden doorframe courtesy of his captors. They shove him through a moment later and he stumbles to the ground. They pull him back to his feet and drag him down the corridor. His ears are ringing, his head is spinning and his heart is fractured in a thousand places. He reminds himself that fractures heal and he is not broken yet. He welcomes the heartache that will lead to heaven, the heartache that will lead him back to Lucy.


	3. Bimini: Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flynn goes on trial for treason.

He’s thrown unceremoniously into Bimini’s local jail, along with the rest of the murderers, rapists and thieves. The only good news is that the palace guards won’t be his captors while he’s here and word of his incarceration will inevitably get out. He just hopes and prays his men don’t do something stupid before speaking to him first. His fate will now depend on a few things, but he needs his friends and allies more than ever. _If he lives long enough, that is_. 

He worries more about Lucy than himself. He couldn’t believe her mother would hurt her the way she did. He’s pretty sure that was the furthest the Queen was willing to push, but after what happened, he won’t bet Lucy’s life like that again. 

If his men can sneak him out of here somehow, the might of the entire Atlantean army will be at his disposal. He doesn’t want a civil war, but he’s not afraid to use the threat to expose this nefarious plot against him. He won’t give in without a fight. It’s just not in him.

He longs to see Lucy and make sure she’s alright, but he doesn’t want her to come here. The jail is dank and filthy and reeks of urine. No, he doesn’t want her to see him here. He sits down in the corner of the cell and contemplates his options. There’s no time to waste. He needs to get a message to his men and he needs to get it to them _now_. 

He wishes he knew where they were keeping Lucy, because a coordinated attack would be their best option. His anger has moved into frustration now. He needs to keep his wits about him, so he has to get his head on straight. 

He can hear the whispers of some of the other men, though no one has said one word to him since his arrival. He doesn’t suspect any of them will address him at all, given some of the looks he’s been receiving. His reputation proceeds him and he’s completely fine with that. 

After a few hours, paranoia seeps into his brain. _What if her mother planted a spy in here in case his men do get a message to him?_ He’s not thinking clearly, which is not a good sign. He wants to pace the cage like a lion, but there’s just not enough room with the number of men they’ve shoved in here. 

It’s getting late, but he dare not sleep. Any one of these men could slit his throat on behalf of the Queen and no one would be the wiser. They could just blame it on a common criminal. The retribution that would surely follow from his men wouldn’t endanger the King and Queen’s agenda at all. It would be ingenious to be sure. 

He convinces himself that this is the Queen’s intention and feels validation when the guards throw a man into the cell in the middle of the night. As soon as the guards leave again, the man makes eye contact with him. He eyes him warily, then resumes his staring contest with the cell floor. If it appears to be careless, his strategy is working. 

The man slowly makes his way towards his side of the cell. Eventually, the man winds up right beside him.

“General,” the man whispers.

He slowly turns his head to glance at the man, as he maintains his peripheral awareness of his surroundings. This could easily be a diversion for another assailant to attack him from behind.

He doesn’t respond to the man verbally. Instead, he glares intently expecting the man to elaborate on what he wants.

“General,” the man whispers again.

This time, the stranger slides his hand towards his own. He peers down at the man’s hand and notices he’s carrying something.

“What?” he growls back in a hushed tone.

“During transport to your trial tomorrow, look for Karlinius.”

He nods his head slightly to acknowledge this fact, then goes back to staring at the floor.

“I fought with you during the sack of Thebes,” the man states at a normal level.

A few of the other prisoners glance in their direction.

“I know you didn’t do what they’re accusing you of. You’re a man of honor,” the man adds.

“Thank you. It doesn’t really matter though, does it?” he barks.

“We’re with you General,” another man shouts from the other end of the cell.

As good as it is to hear that the people also seem to be behind him, unless they’re going to break him out of here, it doesn’t afford much comfort. All he can do now is wait for Karlinius to help him escape. If they’re unsuccessful, he most certainly will be executed. 

He doesn’t sleep at all and the first rays of the new day creep through the small window faster than he would’ve liked. As the beams turn from gray to a golden amber, the guards enter the jail. They pass out scraps of stale bread and cheap wine to the prisoners and exit the cell once more. He scarfs the bread down as fast as possible. It could very well be his last meal for a while, or for the rest of his life. Either way, he needs the fuel in order to be able to fight, since he is not leaving this city without his wife.

As the golden amber glow grows into gloriously bright sunlight, the guards reenter the cell donning a pair of shackles that have his name written all over it. 

“Let’s go traitor!” the guard yells.

He doesn’t move. He won’t acknowledge that even by standing. The guards push their way into the cell and yank him up from his sitting position. They slam the shackles onto his wrists, the metal chaffing the bruises from the prior day’s arrest. As they guide him towards the door, the prisoners begin to stand in the guards’ way, one by one until they surround them. The guards yell loudly for backup and it’s only once the backup arrives that they give way. 

As they lead him towards the door to the cell, the men begin to chant “General, General!”

He’s led down the corridor towards the front door. As the door opens and he’s thrust into the streets, the bright sunlight blinds him momentarily. An unruly mob is gathering along the path towards the temple complex. They shout obscenities at him, shower him with rotten food and spit on him. The blazing sun heats the cobblestone and burns his still bare feet. 

Some of the people lining the city streets are defending him, clashing with their too easily led neighbors. The entire situation is a tinder box. All it needs is for the match to be lit. _Can he really tear his country apart for the love of one woman?_

He scans the faces of the crowd searching for his lieutenant, Karlinius. The guards shove him forward and he starts to panic slightly. He doesn’t see him. _Was this some elaborate hoax just to get him to let down his guard?_

He’s halfway to the temple complex when a crowd of supporters rushes towards him and the guards. Women stroke his arms and face as they wail, while men yell and spit at the guards escorting him. Then, suddenly, he feels someone grab his hand and shove a hard, cool, metallic object in it. He glances up and sees his blacksmith friend, Rufustus. 

“I’m sorry,” Rufustus mutters. “Help isn’t coming.”

He can’t look at what he’s given him now, so he tucks the item between his wrist and the handcuff. The guards shove Rufustus and the other men back, then peel the women from him as they march him slowly towards death. Everything is happening so fast, his brain is scrambling trying to catch up.

The next thing he knows, they arrive at the temple complex. They drag him up the stairs to the square in front of Temple of Verac. Verac is the God of Truth. _How apropos._

They chain his arms to opposite columns in the square. The crowd surrounds him on all sides, except for directly ahead of him. That space is reserved for the royal family. The sacrificial stone lies a few paces from him, a grim reminder of what his future most likely holds. 

He hears a commotion from behind him and turns his head just in time to see them drag Karlinius up the stairs. They force him onto his knees and chain him to the sacrificial stone. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. _He’s condemning his friend and fellow soldier by association. Is that their plan? To build and build upon the betrayals in the hopes that he will betray Lucy instead? His country and his friends, and even possibly, his family, over one woman? Can he justify his choice? Perhaps not, but his choice will always be Lucy._

Trumpets blare and knock him out of his reverie. He glances up just in time to see the royal family enter the square. He cannot help but stare. Lucy is clad in a dark-blue, silk gown. She is paler than usual and has bags under her eyes. Those previously brilliant and sparkling eyes now dull and lifeless. She glances down at him quickly before averting her eyes. 

She takes her place at her parents’ side and the family sits down. One of the king’s ministers unfurls a scroll and begins to address the crowd.

“Lieutenant Karlinius, you have been charged with aiding and abetting treason. What say you?” the minister bellows out into the silent crowd.

“I have done no such thing. I am a loyal soldier of Atlantis,” Karlinius replies with authority.

“Did you not plan to free the traitor General Flynn from prison?” the minister questions.

Karlinius turns and looks at him for the first time. He shakes his head at his friend. Karlinius opens his mouth to respond, but is cut off by the minister before he can.

“I caution you, Lieutenant. Remember your oath,” the minister admonishes.

As he does this, General Keynos steps forward and stands next to the minister. As soon as he sees him, all the pieces of the puzzle seem to fit seamlessly. Karlinius had indeed attempted to plan a rescue and was most likely foiled by General Keynos. He’s never liked the man and if it were up to him, he would have demoted him years ago. He was always jealous of Flynn and he’s finally found the perfect ally and opportunity to usurp him once and for all.

“I did because General Flynn is no traitor!” Karlinius shouts.

“That is not for you to decide, Lieutenant. My King, since the Lieutenant has freely admitted his crime, what sentence do you hand down?” the minister asks.

King Cahillos stands and extends his hands out towards the throng of people.

“The punishment for treason is and has always been…death,” the King declares.

The crowd erupts into raucous cheers, the bloodlust setting in.

A moment later, the members of the Council of Nine stand up in unison. They are situated on the sides of the royal family, meant to be casual observers.

“My King, he has confessed to planning to break a man out of prison, but the guilt of the prisoner has not yet been determined. How can the Lieutenant be guilty of abetting treason if we do not know if the General has committed it?” a councilor questions.

The crowd begins to whisper and voice their agreement. The minister turns and glances at the King.

“You do have a point, Councilor Daenis. The Lieutenant’s sentence shall be suspended pending the outcome of the General’s trial,” King Cahillos announces.

The King’s guards unchain Karlinius from the sacrificial stone. Two more guards unchain him from the columns and the men exchange a knowing look as they trade places.

“General Flynn, you have been charged with treason, inciting and promoting violence against the King and inciting and promoting a military coup. What say you?” the minister states with a booming voice.

“The only thing I am guilty of is loving a princess,” he exclaims.

The crowd falls even more silent, hanging on his every word. It appears that the Council of Nine are also intently following along, which is his last hope at this point. 

“You’re not on trial for that. You’re on trial for-”

“Aren’t I though?” he shouts in a rhetorical fashion.

The crowd oohs and aahs, supping on this spectacle like starving children. All eyes flicker to Lucy, who is clearly not playing along with this charade. Her face is bright red, her anger visible, yet she does not speak. Her reaction does disappoint him, if he’s being honest, but he also understands that a few months with him did not undo a lifetime of her mother’s conditioning.

“You stand accused of treason, General. Nothing more,” the minister hisses back.

“I have done nothing but serve Atlantis loyally. I have fought for this country. I have bled for this country. I have killed for this country. But, I have not betrayed this country, nor have I betrayed my King.”

“Enough of your lies!” the Queen shrieks as she stands.

Another wave of silence rolls through the crowd, as the Queen steps in front of the minister.

“You have swindled my daughter into providing crucial information on the private palace guard. Undoubtedly, it was all a part of your plan to infiltrate the palace and murder my husband. Tell me General, marrying into the royal family just wasn’t enough for you?” the Queen asks mockingly.

He ignores her, because he knows arguing with her is utterly pointless. Instead, he addresses the people and the Council of Nine.

“You all know me. I’ve never had any political ambitions in my life. Many of you have come to me over the years offering to sponsor me for Council or King. And, I’ve turned down each and every one of you. Why would I plan a coup when I could come to those who had previously made such offers?”

It’s a logical argument that makes too much sense for the council to ignore. 

“My Queen, the Council has always known the General to be a man of his word. Do you have any proof of this so-called treason?” Councilor Daenis questions.

“Of course I have proof!” the Queen scoffs.

She reaches back with her hand and General Keynos places an unsealed scroll in her palm. She holds up the parchment in full view of the Council of Nine.

“Behold, proof of his treason in his own hand!” the Queen declares.

She hands the scroll to Councilor Daenis. Daenis opens the scroll and reads it, then passes it to her fellow Council of Nine members. Daenis glances over in his direction and their eyes meet. 

He is trying his best to convey his innocence to her, since she seems to be the only one doubting this farce. Once the last council member reads the scroll, they hand it back to Daenis. She cautiously approaches him, unfurling the scroll once more in front of his eyes so that he can read its contents. 

“I didn’t write that!”

“You’re saying this is not written in your own hand?” Councilor Daenis queries.

“That’s exactly what I’m saying. Even if I was stupid enough to write my treason on paper, do you think I would’ve kept a record of it?” he barks.

_These people really are dense if they buy anything the Queen, the Minister or General Keynos are attempting to sell._

“The General makes an excellent point.”

“We’re supposed to take his word that this is not his handwriting?” the minister scoffs.

“Go back and look at other things I’ve written. They won’t match.”

He’s daring them now, as he senses the tides might just be turning in his favor. He chances a glance up at Lucy. Her head is tilting downward, as if she’s unable to witness this charade any longer, but is powerless to stop it. 

“I overheard him in the soldiers’ villa plotting with Karlinius to kill the King,” General Keynos announces.

Both he and Karlinius protest vehemently, yet the crowd is turning on him. 

“Enough!” the King declares. “I believe we have heard all that is needed to ascertain the accused’s guilt or innocence. The Council will vote.”

Daenis raises her eyebrows at the King, then turns to her fellow council members. This is not the typical way Atlanteans dole out justice. He’s pretty sure that many of the council agree with him, based solely off of their facial expressions. It is a civilized procedure, with evidence and argument being presented in front of a jury, not this kangaroo king’s court with mob rule. 

The Council huddles together in a corner, discussing and arguing amongst themselves. When he gazes back up at his beautiful bride, he can see tears streaming down her face. Their eyes meet, her terror visible in every line and crinkle. It unleashes a beast from deep down within him. _How dare they threaten his wife!_ He can tell that something is _very, very_ wrong. 

The Council debates his fate for what feels like an eternity, then disperse from their group and retake their places on the side of the square. 

“Council of Nine, what verdict have you reached?” the minister questions.

Daenis, who has been speaking for the Council this entire time, takes a step back. Another member that he does not recognize strides forward towards the center, then spins on his heels to face him. 

“Guilty.”

The crowd falls silent for a moment, waiting with baited breath to hear the sentence that will be carried out.

“This is not justice!” Daenis yells with a vehement fervor. 

The crowd starts to yell in response, the noise drowning out every single voice of reason. Then, the most startling thing occurs. He spies Lucy elbow the guard hovering over her and snap to her feet.

“Stop this sham at once! He has done nothing wrong other than fall in love with and marry me. You cannot call him a traitor just because you do not think he’s worthy enough for your daughter!” Lucy shrieks at the top of her lungs.

As soon as the words fall from her lips, the guard grabs her and pulls her back towards her seat. It’s then that he finally notices why Lucy has been so terrified. The guard is pressing a mortal dagger into her side. As one of the only weapons that can kill them, the blue-tinged steel is a prized possession indeed. 

The King waves his arms in the air and the crowd begins to quiet down once more. 

“General Flynn, you have been found guilty of treason by the Council of Nine. As King, I will decide your sentence. The punishment for treason is death and death is what I sentence you with.”

He expected as much. He does not react, does not lash out. They want him to and he refuses to give them the satisfaction.

“Lieutenant Karlinius, you are guilty of suborning treason. The punishment for you will be ten years of incarceration and forfeiture of your rank and privileges in the Atlantean Army,” the King pronounces.

Guards immediately escort Karlinius down the cobblestone path towards the jail. The other guards approach him, as the King descends the small set of stairs leading down to the sacrificial stone. He holds another mortal dagger in his hand. _He didn’t think the bastard had the audacity to execute him himself. He just prays they don’t make Lucy watch. That’s a fate worse than death._

“No! No!” Lucy cries.

“Fear not, my love. We are soulmates. I will find you again when I am reborn,” he reassures her.

 _He knows he will_.Atlanteans may be immortal, but it doesn’t mean that they don’t age. They just age at a plodding pace. It’s this reason alone that the population renews itself. Many older Atlanteans choose to end their current life and be reborn in another. Atlantis has so many avenues to pursue, one could spend multiple immortal lifetimes and never experience it all. Even if he is reborn a hundred years from now, Lucy would still be a young woman. They could fall in love all over again.

Suddenly, the Queen yells from the stairs above for the King to wait.

“Stop. He’s absolutely right. Death is too good for him anyway. I’m sure I can come up with a more suitable punishment,” the Queen declares.

“What do you have in mind, my dear?” the King inquires.

“Permanent exile,” the Queen replies with an evil smirk.

 _Oh, gods no._ If they permanently exile him, he’ll never see her again, not even in his next life. 

“Mother, please!” Lucy begs, as she sobs violently.

“We need to ensure the safety of Atlantis. We cannot have traitors reborn in our midst. They must be cast out into the world where they can never be a threat to us again,” the Queen states.

“So be it!” the King commands. “At sundown, you will be exiled from Atlantis for eternity.”

The guards wrench him up from the sacrificial stone and march him back the way he arrived. He knows it’s impossible, but he would give anything just to kiss Lucy goodbye. _If only that could be his last thought in this world…_

As he’s drug back into the jail, the prisoners begin to chant his name. This time, the guards throw him into one of the smaller cells towards the back. They shove him inside without removing his shackles. When he holds them up for the guards to unlock them, the guards laugh and slam the cell door in his face. _Guess that’s not happening._

Time passes like tiny grains of sand in an hourglass, slow and plodding. In the middle of the afternoon, he’s given his last meal, which consists of some type of unidentifiable brown stew and moldy bread. _Does he really need to eat if he’ll be exiled shortly?_ He slides the bowl of stew towards the other cell. Let someone else who may need it eat it.

A short time later, the guards reappear at his cell door. It’s definitely confusing since it’s not sundown yet.

“Let’s go,” the guards bark, as they jerk on his shackles.

“Where are we going? It’s not sundown yet.”

“The High Priestess wants to give you the last rites for some unknown reason. Afterwards, you will be escorted to the portal for your exile,” the guard explains.

They shove him back out the door and into the blazing afternoon sun. For once, he actually agrees with the guards, because any blessing or rite will be useless the second he goes through the portal. 

The morning crowds have dispersed, with only a few stragglers hanging around the jail. The guards march him down the cobblestone walkway through the stone-paved archway towards the Temple of Meriadre. _How ironic._ His last memory of this temple was the best of his life. Now, it’ll be his last memory of this country period.

The guards escort him into the temple, where he finds the High Priestess and two of her underlings waiting for him.

“Remove the shackles,” the High Priestess commands.

“We cannot,” the guard replies.

“Remove the shackles or risk the wrath of the gods. Your choice.”

The guards glance with bug eyes at each other, then decide to remove the shackles.

“Don’t try anything stupid. You won’t get far and I’m sure they can find some way to make this worse for you,” the guard instructs.

He follows the High Priestess into the inner sanctum, her underlings remaining at the threshold. The doors close behind him, as he stands in the smoke-filled room. 

“I did warn you General. You chose this.”

“I chose Lucy.”

“And, she chose you.”

“How can we ever be together again if I am exiled?” he asks, as his eyes fill with tears.

“Remember what I told you when I married you. You have both shared a piece of your soul with the other. They can only strip the immortally from the part of your soul that remains within you. The part that resides within Lucy is untouchable,” the High Priestess explains.

“What will happen to me then?”

“You will be mortal, but you will not forget her or this place.”

The High Priestess strolls over to the brazier and ignites the sprig of sage she has in her hand. 

“Do you have the talisman that your friend gave to you this morning?” she questions.

“What? How could you…”

“Who do you think gave it to him in the first place?” she laughs.

He had completely forgotten about the metallic object that he wedged between his wrist and the shackles. He shimmies his fingers under the shackles and pulls out the talisman. It is a round, bluish-silver circle, with a wheel-like design etched into it and strange writing that he’s never seen before.

“What is it?” he asks.

“It’s for protection. You need to have it on you when you pass through the portal. It will ensure your memories are kept intact.”

He’s doubtful, to say the least. He knows he needs to have more faith, but it just seems to be difficult for him to muster at the moment. 

“It’s kept you alive so far, hasn’t it?” she huffs, sensing his apprehension.

He can’t deny it. He did have it on him when he stood trial. The High Priestess did warn him. He cannot buckle at the first sign of difficulty if he wants to eventually share a life with Lucy. He must have the inner fortitude to see this through. 

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. He inhales the perfume-tinged incense burning all around him. His mind drifts to Lucy and her beautiful smile; the smile that is brighter than sunshine to him. A slight warmth spreads through his chest and he can feel the part of Lucy’s soul that resides within him. Her name escapes his lips, as if she’s in his arms right now. 

“Flynn?”

His eyes flash open and he whirls around the inner sanctum.

“Lucy?”

There is no one there besides the High Priestess, who eyes him suspiciously. 

He doesn’t hear her voice again. _Did he imagine it all?_

He slams his eyes shut and inhales another huge whiff of incense.

_“Lucy?”_

_“Flynn? Is that really you?”_

_“It’s me Lucy. It’s me.”_

They’re having an entire conversation within their own minds, but it’s not his imagination conjuring this.

_“How is this possible?” she asks._

_“Our souls are joined, remember? Fear not, my love. We will be together again, I promise,” he imparts._

Their moment is interrupted by the guards banging on the door to the inner sanctum. It’s time to go. The High Priestess trails behind him as they march him from the temple to the portal gate. The portal lies at the far end of the temple complex, which means he has to pass by every other temple along the way. The people line both ends of the road, some cheering and other jeering. 

He trips over the cobblestone, stumbles and crashes onto his knees. The guards jerk him back to his feet and he continues to stumble down the path. His feet are cut and bleeding, his knees now matching since his tumble. 

He finally arrives at the portal gate. The journey has been exhausting in his current condition, as his body continues to try and heal itself. The small cuts are the fastest, but the others made with the butt end of the mortal blade are not. In fact, they don’t seem to be healing at all, especially the one on his scalp. His head hurts, but not as bad as it did earlier. Being able to speak to Lucy, even if it was only in his head, gave him the strength and courage to see his exile through with grace. He believes with all his heart they will be together again. The High Priestess hasn’t been wrong yet, so he decides to jump in with both feet. 

The portal is closed when he arrives. The palace guards surround the royal family. He can’t tell if Lucy is with the King and Queen, since the guards are blocking his view. 

“Open the portal,” the Queen pronounces.

The High Priestess performs the spell to open the portal. The wind begins to swirl, as dark clouds roll in. A bright blue light appears first and then a doorway manifests from seemingly nowhere.

“General Flynn, you are hereby stripped of your immortally and are exiled from Atlantis.”

The Queen takes a step towards him and it’s in that moment that he spies Lucy. Her eyes are red and swollen, as tears stream down her cheeks. The urge to run and take her into his arms so that he may comfort her overwhelms him. He hates seeing her in pain like this. 

The King nods at the High Priestess to perform the spell which will make him mortal. He doesn’t know what she does or says because his eyes do not leave Lucy for one second. The guards inch him towards the portal and he uses all his might to prolong his last look at Lucy. She screeches at the top of her lungs and lunges forward, running the distance between them like a lithe gazelle. 

“Flynn, no!”

“Lucy, we are soulmates. We are connected in ways others could and will never be. We will be together again,” he assures her.

The guards push him through the portal and the blinding blue light surrounds his entire body. 

Lucy stands mere inches from the portal, crying inconsolably.

“No,” she declares, as she shakes her head vehemently. “I will not abandon him. I choose a _mortal_ life.”

“Lucy no!” the Queen shrieks.

The High Priestess smiles, as Lucy leaps into the portal just before it closes completely. 

The portal spits him out like a volcano erupting and he lands with a thud onto the hard ground. The sun is brightly shining down upon him, which confuses him momentarily since when he left Atlantis it was sunset. The air is dry and humid, making it difficult to breathe. It’s his first real taste of mortally and he can’t say he’s particularly fond of it.

He lies on the ground for a while, not quite able to find the strength to move. His head is pounding still, his throat is parched and he generally feels awful. He decides he will just rest for a little bit and then figure out where and when he is.

He must have passed out for a while, because when he wakes up, he’s in a small, wooden hut with a thatched roof. An older woman is tending to a pot over a small fire. When she hears him stirring, she turns around and meets his eyes. Her skin is a dark olive, similar to the Egyptians he has come into contact with previously, but she’s not Egyptian. That much, at least, he can tell. 

He glances down at his body and notices that his cuts have been bandaged. He assumes this elderly woman is responsible for bringing him in out of the blazing sun and tending to his wounds.

He sits up too suddenly, then collapses back into the straw bed he is lying in. He is still very weak and doesn’t really care what happens right now. His heart is bereft of Lucy and it’s killing him slowly. _How many lifetimes will he have to wait?_ Wait he will, of course, but he hopes and prays with everything in him that it will not be too long.

The older woman tries to communicate with him, but he has no idea what language she’s speaking. He can get by in Greek and Egyptian well enough, but the only other language he’s actually fluent in is Minoan, having dealt with them more on a friendlier level than the aforementioned. 

They survive the first few days basically grunting and pointing at each other and items around the hut. He finds out that he is east of Egypt, a place he has never been to in all his travels. What he knows of the area is that there are no large civilizations to speak of, at least none like the likes of the Egyptians, Minoans and Greeks. This woman seems to be living in a tiny village in the middle of nowhere. She appears to be some sort of healer, since many of the villagers have come to her for various ailments since he’s been here. 

Eventually, after sticking around for a while, they are able to communicate on a basic level. He helps her with repairs to her hut, hunts and teaches the men of the village how to fight. He doesn’t know how to do much else. In turn, the people in the village teach him how they farm, bake bread and even worship their strange-looking gods. These people are primitive compared to his own. _His own._ _He no longer has people of his own or a home to speak of._

Years go by and he learns more of the language and becomes a part of the community. They even try to convince him to take a local woman as his wife, but he steadfastly refuses. _There will be no other women, only Lucy_.

A plague falls upon the village. Despite the old woman’s best efforts, he falls victim to it. The last few days, he has been burning with fever. As he lies in his bed, his breathing slows. Voices begin clamoring around in his brain. For the first time in a long time, he hears Lucy’s voice in his head.

_“Come find me, my love,” she calls pleadingly._

_“Lucy,” he mumbles._

_“Let go of this life and find me in the next.”_

The world goes black and completely silent. He has no idea what will happen next, but if it leads him to Lucy, he’s ready for it.


	4. Sparta

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flynn wakes up in another new life, but runs into a familiar face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for light bondage and an abduction scenario.

**_Sparta, Greece (480 BCE)_ **

When he wakes up, a strange man is leaning over him laughing. The man extends his hand and he takes it, grateful for the help back into an upright position. It’s a new life for him again. He’s honestly lost track of how many he’s lived. He doesn’t know where he is or what year it is, but he hopes he’s about to find out. He doesn’t even know what name he is called here. Each time it has been different, each time further away from the name he was born with. Perhaps this is part of the curse that has been put upon him. Eventually, he will forget everything about Lucy, about Atlantis, about his life, about who he really is. _Will the curse end if he does? Will he die and finally enter the afterlife or is he doomed to wander this Earth for eternity without her?_

“Garcis! Garcis!” the man yells, as he waves a hand in front of his face.

“Huh?” he asks in confusion.

_Is this guy talking to him or is he calling someone else?_

“I really did ring your bell, didn’t I? You’re not even responding to your own name now. Or, is it perhaps the ladies practicing for the Heraean Games that have your mind elsewhere?” he teases.

_Garcis is apparently his name and he is somewhere in one of the Greek city-states. He just needs to figure out which one. He knows he’s heard that name before, he just can’t remember whether it was Athens or Sparta. Lucy would know._

He doesn’t get a chance to answer him, as said ladies jog into his line of sight. The other man’s eyes are gazing in the same direction, but he does not appear to be as much in shock as he is. The girls are running _naked_. He has no idea if this commonplace, but he’s starting to really, _really_ like this part of Greece.

His friend slaps him on the shoulder and waves a shield in front of his face.

“Time to train. We’ll look at them later. It’s better when they’re exercising anyway. Lots of different positions,” the man declares, as he waggles his eyebrows.

He trains hard for the rest of the day, then he and his new friend, Pellos, head out to watch the girls exercise. He is so glad his friend made him wait. This new crop of young women are all about the same age as himself. His eyes hone in on the bevy of bronze-toned beauties bending and shifting into all kinds of suggestive positions. The two of them dine on grapes and wine, while they inspect the lot of women before them.

Suddenly, he chokes on his grapes, gasping for air, as his eyes go wide. Pellos slaps him on the back and the grape lodged in his throat goes flying out of his mouth. He’s trying to suck in as much air as he can, but his gaze is transfixed on the beauty a few feet from him. She looks _exactly_ like Lucy. _Could it be? Could it truly be her after three thousand years?_

He watches intently as she removes her peplos. He could never forget those curves. _Never. It is her._ He has no idea how this is possible, but he knows he needs to be with her. 

“Can you believe one of these gorgeous ladies is going to be your wife soon?” Pellos asks him, breaking his concentration.

“I want that one,” he mumbles, as he almost points directly at her before Pellos smacks his arm down.

“What the hell are you doing? If you want, _that one_ , then you need to arrange it with her kyrioi,” Pellos scolds.

He has no clue what that means, but he’s sure as hell going to find out.

“I need to find out who it is,” he replies, still not taking his eyes from her.

“You need to find out who she is first, my friend.”

“I already know. She’s the love of my life,” he states in a half-whisper.

He finds out that he is indeed in Laconia; Sparta, in particular. It takes him a few days, but he enquires about the local customs as best as he can, especially those involving marriage. He learns he will turn twenty years of age in two weeks and is thus expected to take a wife. He must arrange this with the woman’s kyrioi, or male guardian. In order to do that, he needs to find out what her name is. _Is it Lucy? Does she remember him?_ There’s only one way to find out for sure.

So, he waits and waits at the entrance to the agora, trying his best to appear inconspicuous. He has kept an eye out for her, but still has not found her. He’s about to give up and go back to training, when he feels a presence at his back. He turns and almost drops the fig from his hand.

“I was wondering if you were going to wait for me all day,” she teases.

“Wha-what…”

He can’t even form words. She is right in front of him, within his grasp after all this time. 

“You were waiting to talk to me, were you not? Or, has some other woman caught your eye?” she asks.

“I-yes-no.”

She giggles and nods to her waiting friend to go on without her.

“I don’t believe I’ve ever had this sort of effect on a man before. Don’t you even want to know my name?” she questions in bewilderment.

“Yes. Please tell me the name that will forever be synonymous with beauty,” he blurts out.

She giggles and bats her lashes at him.

“You’re a charmer when you finally speak,” she jokes, as she moves even closer to him.

“Only for you,” he answers with a huge smile plastered on his face.

“You don’t even know me.”

“I’d _like_ to get to know you,” he quips.

“Maybe. What makes you different than any other Spartan? I have a few male suitors at the moment.”

“None of them are your soulmate. I am,” he answers confidently.

“ _Soulmate?_ You think so?”

“I know so,” he replies, as he leans down towards her ear.

He licks his bottom lip, a nervous habit of his that he knows for a fact used to drive her wild. He’s hoping it still does. 

“Well, you _are_ different soldier, I’ll give you that much. Easy on the eyes as well,” she declares, as she walks a circle around him.

“Please, tell me your name. I need to know your name,” he pleads.

“Lucera.”

He repeats the name again in his head. _It’s not too different from Lucy._

“And, you are?” she questions.

“Fl-Garcis.”

He catches himself at the last minute. All these different lives are threatening to ruin everything if he doesn’t get it straight. 

“May I accompany you today, Lucera?”

“I suppose I can allow such a handsome man to accompany me through the market,” she replies with a smirk.

He licks his lip again, then extends his arm for her to take. She takes his arm and they stroll through the market. He can’t take his eyes off of her, but that doesn’t mean he’s oblivious to the heads that turn in their direction. Just to be touching her, if only lightly, after all this time, is….overwhelming.

He doesn’t have a lot of money, but he does buy her flowers and fresh figs for them to share. They chat as they stroll, and he learns as much as he can without freaking her out too much. Surprisingly, she’s not much different. She still loves to read and draw and she can still charm anyone she comes into contact with. 

He tries his best to impress her, illuminating their shared likes and tastes. He’s not sure if it’s working. He’s also not sure when even talking to a woman became awkward for him. He never had a problem before, but now, he’s terrified of screwing up. He desperately wants to kiss her, to hold her in his arms and whisper sweet nothings in her ear. But, she doesn’t know him and he needs to be patient. He has to woo her all over again, but woo her he will. 

He needs to find out the name of her kyrioi, but he doesn’t want to seem too pushy, so he doesn’t ask outright. 

“I thank you for a lovely day, but I must be going now,” she informs him.

“May I accompany you again some time?”

A wicked smile crosses her face, as she gently lays her hand on his forearm. 

“I would like that,” she states softly.

“When shall I meet you?”

“Three days from now at noon,” she replies.

“Until then,” he answers, as he kisses her knuckles.

**_Three Days Later_ **

He meets her in the market as promised, but they don’t stay there the entire time. They linger long enough just to gather the ingredients he needs for a light picnic. He leads her out into the fields and they find a spot of shade in an olive grove. 

“You look lovely today,” he whispers, as he tucks an errant strand of hair behind her ear.

“It’s because the company is lovely,” she replies softly.

He blushes and lowers his eyes momentarily before returning his gaze to her lips. They beckon him like the flower does to the hummingbird. 

“Well, at least if you’re going to stare at something, my lips are better than my chest,” she teases, as she cups his chin with her fingers and brings his eyes to meet hers.

He panics as he peers at her, hoping he hasn’t gone too far and blown his chance. She chuckles playfully and he smiles, as he brings her hand to his lips.

“You are truly the most charming woman I have ever met,” he declares. “I’m staring at your lips because all I want is for them to kiss me back when I do this.”

He cups her face and kisses her hard. It’s desperate, animalistic and primal. Thankfully, she complies with his wish, opening her mouth and twisting her tongue around his. He feels as if he’s floating amongst the clouds, as they taste and tempt one another. Never in a million years did he think he’d ever get the chance to kiss her lips again, which fuels him to keep kissing her over and over again.

Finally, she breaks away, both of them gasping for air, as they rest their foreheads against one another. When she gazes back up into his eyes, he sees that familiar sparkle. His Lucy is in there somewhere, this much he knows. This iteration of her isn’t that far off either, although she is definitely more charming in this life than the last (which is saying _a lot_ since she could charm the skin off a snake in Atlantis).

“Careful now. Those other women you’re courting might get jealous if you’re spending all your time with me,” she admonishes.

“Impossible,” he whispers, as he pulls her in for another kiss.

She breaks away again and he chases her lips. He could literally kiss her all day long and never grow tired of it, but apparently she’s not feeling the same way right now. 

“Why is that?” she asks.

“Because there has never been, nor will there ever be another woman I’m interested in except for you.”

He’s being dead honest here and prays to any god that will listen that she doesn’t run for the hills at his boldness.

“Mmm, I like the sound of that,” she giggles, as she pulls him in for another kiss.

She may have to pry him off of her if she continues kissing him like this. He feels like a starving man that just had a feast placed before him. The kissing does not stop until it leads to both of them being too heated to continue. They are in public after all.

“I need to get going,” she tells him, as she scrambles to her feet.

He snaps up after her, taking her hands in his and pulling her closer.

“Can I see you tomorrow?” he asks, as he places a soft kiss to her forehead.

“Tomorrow? Don’t you have someone better to call upon tomorrow?”

He pulls back just far enough to stare into her eyes. His hands cups her face, as he searches her expression trying to decipher what’s going on here.

“No. There is no one better than you, my dear,” he answers with a wink of his eye.

“I beg to differ. Would it not be better to call upon my kyrioi tomorrow instead?” she suggests with a playful smile.

It finally sinks in what she’s inferring here and his heart skips a beat. 

“It absolutely would,” he corrects, “if I knew who he was.”

She pulls back from him and rolls her eyes, as she huffs loudly. 

“My kyrioi is Mykos,” she responds.

“I will go to him tomorrow then,” he informs her, as she takes his arm and leads him back towards the market.

He escorts her to the edge of the market and they steal a quick kiss before parting ways. As she’s walking away, she turns her head back and looks at him. He’s standing there admiring the view, but he’s never been more thankful that he currently is when she gives him one last piece of advice.

“Oh, by the way, Mykos has a weakness for candied dates,” she states before turning the corner and disappearing out of sight.

Convincing her kyrioi to grant him permission to marry her turns out to be harder than he originally thought. Mykos takes a meeting with him, extending the same courtesy he has granted to her other suitors. He goes through the entire litany of reasons why he would be the best match for Lucera, including the fact that he has been selected personally to serve with King Leonidas’ unit. Spartans hold their military might in high esteem, yet his military prowess does not seem to impress Mykos very much at all. 

He doesn’t have the type of money that some other men might, but that doesn’t appear to be motivating Mykos’ decision either, at least from his observations of the man. 

They meet multiple times, but that only yields similar results. He even tries the candied dates trick that Lucera suggested. Finally, he snaps.

“Is there anything I can do to change your mind? Tell me what it will take, because I will _not_ take no for an answer. I love her too much to give up the fight,” he declares.

This confession of his seems to move the needle in his direction, somehow permeating through the thick layers of walls Mykos has built up around him. 

“That-that’s what I want to see. That is the sort of impassioned plea I was searching for. None of the others have proclaimed their love for her. You are the only one. I also believe that my niece has feelings similar to yours,” Mykos responds.

He’s quite frankly floored by this response. Spartans are notorious for discounting their feelings and wishes for a more practical approach. Love is generally not a consideration when marriages are arranged. 

“Therefore, I will grant you permission to marry,” Mykos informs him, as he extends his hand to shake.

He’s still in shock, but shakes Mykos’ hand immediately. _Better to seal the deal now before he has a change of heart._ _Perhaps he can have it all in this lifetime._

On the night of their wedding, his normal nerves of steel are nonexistent. After learning about the Spartan courting and wedding rituals and traditions, he has to admit he’s not exactly very comfortable with all of them. Two in particular come to mind, but the first is only a superficial preference on his account. Married Spartan women are forbidden to wear their hair long. He’s never seen or even imagined her with short hair. But, it’s still her, no matter what her hair looks like. It’s selfish of him, but he always loved running his hands through her hair. _Plus, she always liked it when he tugged on it a little bit during their love-making sessions._

The second ritual is the one that really gives him pause. He will have to “capture” his new bride. His only saving grace is the fact that she’ll know ahead of time that it’s him. He doesn’t claim to be some sort of expert on the world’s marriage rituals, but compared to what he experienced in Atlantis, this seems more…barbaric and unromantic. It may be a business transaction to some, but not to him. He loves her more than life itself. 

He’s also not used to being armed to the teeth while attending a wedding. His sword is at his waist, his spear and shield in each hand. His helmet is heavy and not conducive to breathing well, which is doubly problematic since he’s already having trouble breathing from the anticipation of marrying her again.

He arrives at her home and her kyrioi escorts him down a corridor to her darkened chamber. Mykos leaves him at the threshold. He takes a deep breath, then exhales slowly, preparing himself for what he’s about to do. 

He pries the door open just enough for him to slip into the chamber. The room is pitch black, with the only light coming through the crack in the door. He stops as soon as he’s inside, giving his eyes time to adjust to the darkness. He can hear her breathing heavily and he’s pretty sure both of their hearts are racing at this point. He can’t imagine what she feels right now, what she’s thinking. Even knowing who it is that will be basically abducting her, it can’t make the proposition any more appealing or the anticipation any less dreadful. 

He uses his training to hone in on her location by listening to her breathing. He figures out that she’s probably standing in the middle of the room. He stealthily stalks along the wall, feeling his way until he approximates that he’s somewhere near the middle. 

He inches slowly towards the middle of the room, trying to be as silent as possible. He’s not sure he’s accomplishing that goal, since the armor does clank a little as he moves. As he slinks closer, he can hear her breathing becoming shallower. 

He finds this entire charade ridiculous, but he’ll go through with it if it means they will be married. He springs his trap in an instant, wrapping his left arm and shield around her body. He uses his right hand which is carrying his spear to pull her closer to him. She gasps, as he grabs her. He leans down to whisper in her ear.

“Come with me.”

He doesn’t say it in a threatening way like he’s meant to, but instead tries to be as seductive as possible. He spins her around and they walk towards the door, his shield and spear still pressing her against him. He uses his foot to kick the chamber door open and proceeds out into the corridor. 

In the light of the corridor, he finally gets his first glimpse of her. Her hair has been cut to just under her chin. Originally, he thought he’d hate it, but he figures the bright side of all of this is better access to her neck. She wearing a men’s cloak and sandals, as is traditional for Spartan brides. 

They weave through the house and back out onto the street. He leads her to where his horse is tied, then orders her to mount it. She struggles initially with pulling herself up and he chuckles because he’s always adored her clumsiness. She finds pulls herself up and he jumps on after securing his shield.

He leans down again and in another sultry tone whispers, “grab the reins.”

He can feel her body shiver against him, which is not helping his heart right now. They ride through the streets, as he guides her to their new home. She will be responsible for maintaining the household while he serves in the army. Once he turns thirty though, he will be allowed to live with his wife on a full-time basis. Until then, he will be expected to live in the barracks and secretly visit his wife at night. It’s just the way things are done around here, but he loathes it. The thought of her sleeping alone is like a dagger to his heart. She belongs in his arms all night, every night.

When they arrive at their new home, he dismounts his horse and hands his spear to one of the servants. He turns to his new wife and extends his arms, as she dismounts the horse. She slides down into his embrace and gazes wistfully into his eyes as he catches her. 

In a dash he sweeps her off her feet and into his arms, as he carries her inside their home. She responds to his playfulness with a fit of giggles and he practically sprints with her to their bedroom. He gently places her on the bed, then pulls back slightly to take her all in. _Man, she’s beautiful._ He tears her men’s cloak off, revealing the peplos she has on underneath. He leans down and kisses her passionately.

“I hope I didn’t scare you too bad,” he whispers, as he pulls back from their embrace.

“Are you kidding me? The entire thing turned me on so bad, I’ve been wet for you ever since we left my house,” she whispers back, as she grinds her hips against him.

A guttural groan escapes his lips, as his hands roam the length of her curves.

“If you don’t take care of the ache between my legs immediately, I’m going to explode,” she teases.

He laughs heartily before yanking her peplos completely off her body. They reposition themselves on the bed, as he braces his weight on his elbows. She grabs his face in her hands and jams her tongue down his throat. Eager would be a mischaracterization of her right now, as she strips him out of his clothes. The love of his life is apparently done with foreplay, as she makes it _very_ clear what she wants and needs right now. Subtlety seems to be devoid from her vocabulary, as she pleads him to fuck her.

Her wish is his command. He slides into her and quickly finds out she wasn’t kidding about being wet for him. His thrusts are gentle at first, as he tries to find out what she likes and what drives her completely wild. He can’t just rely on what she was like in Atlantis, since this version of her is slightly different. For one, he can tell that she _one-hundred percent_ knows what the hell she’s doing to him right now. He listens to every whine, whimper and moan, as he increases his pace.

It feels magical to be with her again after all these years. Since this is the only night it will be permissible to wake up in her arms, he plans to make the most of it. Their pace is frenetic and he knows she’s getting as close as he is. He pulls out and she voices her displeasure a moment later with a groan. A wicked grin appears across his face, as he slides down her body until his mouth is aligned with her center. He twists his tongue into her, as she lets out a surprised cry. He wants to prolong this as long as possible, but he needs to taste her. His thumb draws small circles on her clit, as she tenses and screams his name. 

Her screaming his name almost undoes him completely, but he doesn’t stop. She begins building up to climax once more, and he withdraws his mouth and slides back into her. She’s practically begging for him to make her come again, rocking her hips in a rapturous rhythm against him. He’s about to completely lose his freaking mind, but he needs to give her at least one more orgasm first. He bites down lightly on her breast, teasing her nipple between his teeth and she digs her nails into his back as she comes again. She arches her back and screams his name once more, and he spills into her with a contented grunt. 

“I love you so much, Lucy,” he whispers into her ear, as their toned and tangled limbs disentwine. 

_Shit. He called her by her former name._

“Lucy? I like it,” she answers, as she kisses him hungrily.

He tries to cover up his faux pas as best he can.

“Everyone else can call you Lucera, but no one but me gets to call you Lucy. That pet name is reserved for your husband only,” he teases.

“I’ll have to think of my own for you,” she jokes back.

The rest of the evening turns into a sexathon, with small breaks to drink, eat and regain their strength. Every fiber of his being wants to steal her away and just leave Sparta behind. They are together, they are happy and he will do whatever it takes to keep it that way. 

The next few months are absolute bliss. Every single night, he sneaks out of the barracks and returns to his home. They don’t make love every night, but he treasures those evenings as well. He only has a few hours a day with her, but he always attempts to make the most of it. It physically pains him that he must leave her in the pre-dawn hours. 

He knows she’s lonely without him, so he tries his best to give her the one thing neither of them have ever had: a baby. It’s the main purpose of Spartan women to give birth to the next generation of Spartan warriors. He knows she’s fretting about it as well. All her friends that have been recently married are already pregnant or have just given birth.

There’s also the threat of war looming over his head. If the Persians encroach any further, the Greeks will need to band together to fight them off. The thought of losing her or leaving her all alone when they just found each other again, tears his heart in two. 

His worst fear comes to pass about a month later. The army is called into action to put a halt to the Persian invasion. He is one of seven thousand that will be marching to Thermopylae. The odds are not in their favor, as the Persians greatly outnumber them by the thousands.

He desperately wants to take his wife and go west, or anywhere that is not east. He has just found her again after three thousand years. He cannot lose her now. But, he also cannot let his city and home be overtaken by Persians, knowing what will happen to her if the city were to fall. He cannot bear that either. So, his only hope is to go to war and pray they are able to snatch victory from the jaws of defeat.

“I don’t want you to go,” she whispers into the darkness, as her head lies on his chest.

“I don’t want to, but I have to. You think I trust the rest of them to protect you from the Persians, huh?”

The moon is bright tonight, with shimmers of silvery starlight streaming through their bedroom windows. They clutch each other as if it might be their last time, even if he’s pretty sure that’s not reality. He’s found her once and he will find her again if he should fall in battle. Now that he knows she’s here in this world and not back in Atlantis where he is forever barred, he is confident that their souls will be drawn to each other somehow. 

“I’m sorry. I know you are not a coward. It’s just…I love you so much. My life will be empty if you are not in it,” she whispers softly.

“I will fight through ten thousand Persians if I have to in order to get back to you, my love.”

He bends his head to kiss her softly. When he pulls back, he can see that wicked spark in her eyes. It’s only there for a fleeting moment, but he knows he saw it. She slides herself up his body, straddling him as she goes. She grips his face in her hands, then starts placing kisses along his hairline. She moves down to his forehead proper next, then his eyes, cheeks and chin. He feels as if she’s trying to memorize the lines of his face, as she showers her attentions on him. 

She kisses him deeply, as she entwines their hands above his head. The next thing he knows, she’s tying his wrist with a long piece of silk. He loves it when she takes charge and this version of her _loves_ to be in charge. He is more than happy to oblige her any time she wishes. 

She ties his other wrist to the bed with another piece of silk, then ghosts her lips over his. He groans in frustration, which only serves to further her conviction of driving him out of his mind. She licks a stripe down his chest, stopping just above his cock. He instinctually bucks his hips upward, only for her to slam them back down.

“Not until I tell you. You know better,” she scolds.

_He loves it when she’s bossy. It’s such a turn on._

She moves down his body further and ties each ankle to the bed as well. He is completely at her mercy now, which is arousing him considerably. She ties one more piece of silk around his eyes blindfolding him. 

“Darling, I want to be able to look at you,” he pleads.

“This isn’t about what _you_ want, _husband_.”

He laughs heartily and receives and slap to the chest as punishment.

“Ow!”

“If you don’t behave, your punishment will be much worse than that,” she declares loudly.

“Maybe…I want to be punished,” he teases.

“Oh, you will be,” she laughs wickedly, as she straddles him.

His senses are already on overload. The sensory deprivation heightens with every caress and slight touch, to the point of exhilaration. He lets out a hiss as she sinks down on him. 

“I didn’t say you could make noise, did I?” she barks.

He shakes his head instead of responding verbally. She slowly begins to rock her hips causing him to lose all control of his faculties. The thought of losing control and disobeying her by coming early terrifies him. 

She rakes her nails down his chest, as she increases her pace and rides him mercilessly. His body is urging him to buck his hips up into her and it takes all his will-power to ignore it. He feels her muscles tighten, as she begins to orgasm. He is about to explode if she doesn’t let him finish soon. She comes with a cry, then bends down and whispers into his ear.

“You can make noise now,” she instructs, as she leans over and unties his right wrist.

The guttural groan that escapes him is inhuman. She then unties his left wrist and settles back on his hips.

“Can I move now?” he requests pleadingly.

She arches her body backwards and unties the silk around his right ankle.

“In a second,” she laughs.

She finally undoes the tie to his left ankle and he’s done being told what to do.

“Now-”

He doesn’t even let her get the word out before his mouth is devouring hers. He flips them over, running his hands up and down her sides, then kisses the living daylights out of her. 

“You are so in trouble now,” he growls, as he trails kisses from her neck down to her chest.

“I like trouble,” she responds playfully.

“You better. You married it.”

In the pre-dawn hours, he gathers his helmet, sword and spear and prepares to leave for war. She accompanies him to the front of their home and they embrace in a tear-felt goodbye. 

“Come back to me with your shield…or on it,” she declares proudly, as she kisses him passionately once again.

He feels as if someone is ripping his beating heart from his chest, as he marches out into the street towards the barracks. He’s only been away from her for a few seconds and it’s already too much to bear. 

He joins his fellow soldiers in the barracks, as they gather together. At dawn, they begin their march to Thermopylae. He’s been to war more times than he can count, but he never had a reason to be victorious other than the sheer thrill and pride of the act. Now, he has his soulmate to fight for. And, fight he will.

The Persians outnumber them by the thousands, yet they manage to block the only road the colossal Persian army could pass through for two full days. At the end of the second day, a local man betrays the Spartans and their Greek allies. The Persians outflank them using a small shepherd path. Their king, Leonidas, recognizes what is occurring and dismisses the bulk of the Greek army. Three hundred Spartans and seven hundred Thespians stay behind to guard the army’s retreat, King Leonidas and himself among them.

There is no going back now. He knows this. He marches towards certain death, yet he will stand on his feet. Spartans do not cower from battle or death and neither does he. Apparently, the priestess was correct about how difficult it will be for Lucy and him to be together. They only seem to get these snippets of time and glimpses of a loving future before it’s all snatched away.

He slashes and slices his way through the Persian front lines, killing as many men as he can in the process. A sword to his thigh brings him down to his knees, before a barrage of arrows pummels his body from above. His vision darkens, as thoughts of his beautiful wife dance in his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's debate over whether Spartans actually exercised in the nude, but for the purpose of this story, I went with it.
> 
> Peplos=a loose-fitting outer garment worn draped in folds by women of Ancient Greece.
> 
> Agora=a chief marketplace in Ancient Greece, especially Athens.


	5. Germania

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flynn's new life leads him to a completely foreign land, where he runs into a familiar face.

_**Teutoburg Forest, Germania (9 B.C.E.)** _

This new life is quite different from his last. Instead of luxury and comfort, this life is filled with hardship and war. This land is completely foreign to him, having never heard of Germania before his exile. His hair is past his shoulders, which is also new for him. Life here is simple for the most part. His people are the Cherusci, subjects of the mighty Romans. Allied with the superpower for a few years, the relationship has definitely soured in the recent past.

The tribe elders gather, which is how he first meets the de facto leader of the growing discontent. His name is Arminius, or at least that is what his Roman name is. They still do not trust him completely, so they purposely use his Roman name to remind him of that. Arminius was a Prince of the Cherusci, who was turned over, along with his brother, to the Romans by his father. They were in effect hostages to ensure the tribe’s subjugation. They were raised in Rome and drafted into their military service at an early age. Arminius served as a Roman equestrian, an elite fighting force. He even eventually earned himself Roman citizenship. He was sent back to Germania to help quell the rebellions, but something changed. He’s about to find out exactly what at tonight’s council meeting.

Apparently, Arminius’ change of heart came when he saw firsthand exactly what the Romans were doing to his people. Arminius knew once the Romans were done with the Germanic tribes, there wouldn’t be any semblance of their culture or lives left standing. He must sense a kindred spirit in Arminius, because he pulls him aside as some of the elders discuss things amongst themselves. He looks this man dead in the eye and comes to the conclusion he believes his change of heart is authentic. The elders rely upon his judgment, so they agree they will join Arminius and his men in open rebellion against the Romans. 

They get along so well, they become fast friends. Arminius and Garrick, which is what is he called in this place, are a force to be reckoned with. They travel from village to village, convincing the people to join their cause.

One night, after convincing another village to rise in rebellion, he and Arminius gather around the bonfire, while some of the villagers dance and sing and strum their instruments. He notices his friend is acting a little off.

“What’s the matter with you tonight?” he asks.

“See that girl over there by the village elder?”

He twists his head to the left trying to figure out who his friend is referring to.

“The one with the long braid,” Arminius clarifies.

“Yeah, I see her. What about her?”

“I’m in love with her. I want to ask her to marry me, but with what we’re about to do…”

“Do you want my advice?” he questions.

Arminius nods, as his gaze wanders back to the woman across the way.

“Don’t wait. If you love her and she loves you, go for it. Life is too short. Wait, she does love you right?” he asks.

“I think so. I was hoping to find that out when I dance with her tonight, but she’s with her sister. Do you think you could...?”

“You want me to dance with her sister, don’t you? Is she hideous or something?”

“No. Not at all. Come on,” Arminius instructs, as he pulls him up from a sitting position.

They approach the women sitting on the opposite side of the fire. The sister’s back is turned to him, so he can’t see her just yet. Arminius speaks to his beloved, Thusnelda, and she introduces her sister, Luna, to him. As soon as she turns, his heart skips a beat. _Lucy._ He never thought he’d see her again. It’s been four hundred and seventy one years since he’s seen her. He figured after his second chance in Sparta, the universe would not afford him another. _He obviously knows nothing._

The four of them dance around the fire and pair off a short while later. They decide to take a break and grab a seat on a bale of hay, as they watch Arminius and Thusnelda spin and spin in the flickering firelight.

“They make a good match,” she blurts out when they sit in awkward silence for too long.

“They do,” he agrees, as he takes a sip of his ale.

“And, what about you? Do you have a wife waiting for you in your village?” she questions, as she leans closer to him.

“No. No, there’s no wife.”

She raises an eyebrow, as she glances at him suspiciously.

“Ask Arminius if you don’t believe me. I-I’m not very good at talking to women,” he confesses, as a blush spreads across his cheeks.

“Well, you haven’t had much of a problem talking to me,” she laughs.

_Because you’re not like other women. I know you, the real you, but how can I explain that to you without sounding insane?_

“Must be the company,” he answers bashfully.

“Or the ale,” she adds.

“No, not the ale,” he clarifies.

They steal shy glances at each other, as another moment of silence falls over them. It’s not awkward or uncomfortable in any way, but he’s not sure what to do next.

“I’m not really that much of a dancer,” she admits.

“Me neither.”

“Do you want to go somewhere a little quieter?” she inquires.

He accepts her invitation and they make their way to a rocky outcropping on the edge of the village. They take a seat and lean back against the rock, staring at the sparkling stars in the sky.

“This is much better,” he states, as he turns his head towards her.

“Much.”

“So, what about you? Is there a husband or man in your life?” he asks praying that the answer is no.

“There was once a man, but he died fighting the Romans. That was a long time ago, though,” she answers honestly.

Their hands inch closer and closer together as they talk about their lives. He wishes more than anything that she’d remember their life in Atlantis or Sparta. Unfortunately, he has to recite and discuss a life that’s not technically his own, even though it is. It’s a strange feeling. He’s Flynn to his core, but he’s also Garcis and Garrick. Snippets and fragments of both of their personalities have been more prominent in Sparta and now here. But, they are still essentially Flynn and Lucy. Their names may change, as well as their appearances, but deep down they’re substantially the same.

“I’ve always enjoyed gazing at the stars. I feel so small and insignificant next to them,” she explains with a brilliant smile.

“Impossible,” he states matter-of-factly.

“Why is that?” she questions, as she tilts her head to glance up at him.

“No one _this_ beautiful can be insignificant,” he declares, as he slips his hand into hers.

“You think _I’m_ beautiful?” she asks, as she bolts to an upright position.

He sits up as well, his hand still intertwined with hers, his eye contact never wavering.

“You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. Even more so in the light of the moon,” he confesses.

“I’m just a simple girl from a simple village. I’m nothing special. Now, Freima of Bremen-that is a beautiful woman,” she replies.

“She doesn’t hold a candle to you. I’ve met her in person. Tales of her beauty have been _greatly_ exaggerated.”

She laughs and lowers her eyes to their clasped hands. His lips brush against her knuckles like a gentle breeze blowing in the wind. He’s aching to hold her in his arms, to caress her hair and kiss her senseless. She leans towards him slightly and he closes the rest of the gap. Their lips are almost touching when they hear movement in the brush near them.

“Garrick!” Arminius calls from the brush.

_Now? Are you kidding?_

“We need to go now! Roman soldiers have been spotted on the outskirts,” Arminius explains.

They both scramble to their feet and he turns to go, but stops. He turns back, grabs her face and kisses her passionately. He wishes he could stay longer, but he needs to get to safety before they’re caught.

“Stay safe. I’ll be back when I can,” he murmurs into her ear.

“Garrick, we need to go!” Arminius yells.

He climbs down from the outcropping, helps her down as well and then takes off with Arminius into the woods. They manage to evade the soldiers and find their way to another village by morning.

There have been a few successful skirmishes against the Romans, but a larger battle is just on the horizon. It has been two moons since they have been to the village, but his thoughts have never been devoid of her for more than a heartbeat. They have been invited to sup with the sisters this evening and he is giddy with anticipation.

They stroll through the village to the hut of the sisters. The hut is made of wood, has a thatched roof and is typical of most of the villages he has visited. When they enter, Thusnelda greets them both and offers them a seat. A minute later, she appears from behind a small, woven tapestry that’s being used as a curtain. Luna looks lovely tonight. He continuously repeats her name in his head, fearful that he will call her Lucy in a moment of weakness. That itself could be disastrous in nature, with him still effectively wooing her at the moment.

After they finish supper, Thusnelda and Arminius go for a walk. Suddenly, the two of them are all alone and an awkward moment passes between them. Finally, he decides to be brave and break the silence.

“I have thought of you often while I was traveling through the villages,” he confesses.

She stands from her seat and strolls across the hut, stopping only once she’s in front of him. She places her hands on his shoulders and he gazes up at her through hooded lashes.

“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since we met,” she whispers back.

He reaches out and takes her hand, pulling her to the space next to him. His thumb grazes her cheek, as he bends down and kisses her softly. As they part for air, he hears the sound of footsteps at the hut’s entrance. Thusnelda and Arminius are returning from their walk and would like some alone time.

He takes her by the hand and the two of them walk with their hands entwined towards the rocky outcropping. He’s about to help her up the structure as he did before, when she gently places her hand on his forearm.

“Come with me. I want to show you one of my favorite places,” she pleads.

They make their way through the snaking deer path in the brush and follow it until they come upon the river. They take a seat under a grove of trees. The moon shines in silvery streaks on the water, causing a glittery reflection to shine upon her. _She’s so beautiful._

Suddenly, she grabs his face and plants a kiss on his lips. He freezes for a second and then wraps his arms around her and pulls her close to his chest. Words are too much for either of them right now, as they continue to kiss and explore each other’s bodies. She pulls him down on top of her into a pile of leaves. His tongue explores her mouth for a while, before blazing a trail down her neck. She’s a force of nature in any lifetime, and right now, she’s moonlighting as the goddess herself. The fall foliage clinging to her dark, wavy, brown hair, along with her white linen gown, is making him wild with desire.

“I’ve dreamt of this,” she whispers, as his hands skim up her thighs, her white dress inching up her body as her does.

“Not as much as I have,” he replies softly, as he claims her lips once again.

He kisses her soundly for a few minutes, then tests the limits of this newfound coupling by kissing up her right thigh.

“Mmm, this is even better than my dream,” she murmurs.

“How am I supposed to compete with your fantasy?” he teases, as he slips a finger into her.

Her breath hitches when he does and he proceeds to work her with one and then two fingers. He’s thankful they’re out in the woods, because this version of his beloved is _loud._ She’s writhing in pleasure, as he expertly curls his fingers and hits her sweet spot. Beads of sweat form at her hairline and her breathing gets faster and faster. She’s screaming the second his tongue curls around her clit. He is downright smug about his performance and crawls up to gaze at her. Her eyes are closed, her face is flushed and she is positively radiant right now.

“ _So beautiful_ ,” he whispers, as he buries his head into the crook of her neck.

Suddenly, the cloud cover clears and the full moon beams down upon them, as if they’re their own celestial body.

“By the light of the moon,” she sighs.

“What?”

“A child of the moon takes her lover by the light of it,” she explains in a whisper.

“Mmm, my moon goddess.”

He finds it ironic that she’s a child of the moon in this life, since he’s always associated her with the brightness of the day, especially since Lucy means light. She’s already been his star, the light that guided him to her in the first place. It’s only apt that she also becomes his moon, the light that illuminates the darkest of spaces. She is his entire world, his entire universe. The moon’s sway is serene, mysterious and wild all at the same time, just like her.

“We are connected by a force that is beyond the natural world. I am certain of it,” she states decidedly.

“I agree. But, what makes you say so?” he asks curiously.

“The way you look at me pierces through every wall and shield I have ever built and it burrows down into my bones, into my soul,” she explains.

He kisses her passionately, his tongue deep into the recesses of her mouth. He is utterly lost in his love for her.

“I want you…all to myself,” he breathes.

“So, take what you want,” she answers with a nibble on his ear.

He growls with desire and yanks his trousers down and off. Next, he yanks her dress up and over her head. He grunts when he enters her and she rolls and rocks her hips in response to his thrusts. Their coupling is primal, animalistic almost, as they bite, lick and kiss each other on every scrap of skin. They are as natural as nature intended, the hungry wolf and the maiden fair, consummating their instinctual desires amongst the leaves, trees and stars. As they approach climax, he sits upright, pulling her with him into an embrace. She bites into his shoulder as she finishes, and he literally howls at the moon when he comes a moment later. They collapse into the pile of red and orange leaves, bodies still intertwined as they attempt to catch their breath.

“I want to stay like this forever,” she whispers.

“If only we could.”

He knows they can’t, but he would give anything for just a little bit of time with her.

“Will you stay with me tonight?” she asks with hesitation.

“Of course. There is nowhere in this entire world that I would rather be.”

They eventually make their way back to the village and her hut. Arminius and Thusnelda are fast asleep in each other’s arms when they arrive. She pulls back a piece of cloth and reveals her sleeping space. It isn’t much, but he doesn’t care. None of the trappings of wealth could ever outweigh his love for her. They climb into the bed and he pulls her close. They kiss and make out for a few more minutes before the exhaustion of the day claims them.

They part the next morning, but not before he promises to return as quickly as he can.

He has just received word that the Romans have sent three legions into the countryside in an effort to discover the location of their camp and put down the rebellion once and for all. They expected nothing less from them. Since Arminius was raised by the Romans, he can anticipate their moves and provide them with a decided advantage. 

They are in one of the huts discussing which valley to trap the Romans in, when a soldier bursts inside, panic spreading across his face.

“The Romans…they’re attacking the local villages trying to find us. We need to move now.”

“Which villages?” he asks, as he grips the man harshly.

He knows Arminius wants to know this information as well, he just beat him to the punch.

“The villages just north of the river,” the soldier responds.

Arminius glances over at him and the two of them know immediately that the women they love are most likely in trouble. Arminius turns and he grabs his forearm and turns him back.

“I’ll go. I’ll get them to safety. I’ll meet you on the ridge,” he informs him.

Arminius hesitates, but then nods his head. He takes Hermann, an expert archer, Verner, an expert tracker and Matthias, one brute of a man. They rush and move like the wind through the woods, quick yet silent. They run for what feels like forever, his lungs burning as he struggles to breathe. Twigs and leaves crunch and snaps under his feet, as he sprints towards the village with such urgency and speed that the other men can barely keep up.

They come upon the first village only to find it destroyed. Bodies litter the ground, the huts are on fire and the livestock have been confiscated. Verner examines the tracks leading north.

“They’ve taken slaves. These tracks here aren’t made by Roman sandals. They’ll be moving slower because of it. We have a chance to catch them,” Verner explains.

Hermann runs ahead to scout and the rest of them trail behind, but not by far. After running for what feels like another eternity, they spot Luna and Thusnelda’s village off in the distance. Smoke billows into the air and they rush forward using the tall grass as cover. He makes his way to the edge of the village, his heart thumping in his ears. _They’re too late._ The Romans have come and gone, only the screams of the dying left in their wake.

“Luna! Luna!” he screams and screams.

He passes by the burning remnants of their hut and an elderly man on the ground catches his attention.

“They took the girls. North. You can catch them. Take the gap. You can pin them down,” the man utters with his dying breath.

Rage blinds him and he sprints off toward the gap. If the man is correct, the Romans are taking the mountain road, which means they will be slow. He refuses to let them take her. He will die trying before he gives up on saving her.

They snake their way through the rest of the forest and through the gap in the mountain. Once they clear the gap, they turn east and climb up the ridge to ascertain the Romans’ position. 

“They might as well be blaring horns they’re so loud,” Matthias laughs.

“Hermann, is there a spot on the mountain road we can use to ambush them?” he questions.

“There’s multiple,” Hermann replies with a smirk.

They decide on the best spot to ambush them and wait. They will be outnumbered greatly, but they will use their knowledge of the land to aid in the offensive. Hermann sets up arrows at the base of a few trees along the path. He instructs Matthias to find a way to block the Roman advance. He and Verner take positions along opposite sides of the road, axes and knives at the ready.

Suddenly, a large boom thunders through the valley and Matthias appears at his side with a huge grin on his face a few moments later.

“Road’s blocked.”

He stares at him quizzically.

“I knocked a tree down. They’re going to have to go around it,” Matthias states with pride.

_He is so glad this mammoth of a man is on his side._

Just as he predicted, the Romans detour around to the smaller path that winds up and through the mountains. The sun is setting and a glare shines down into the valley. The Romans struggle to see and it slows them down even further. He does a bird call to signal Verner to get ready. 

As soon as the front of the Roman formation passes Verner’s position, he does another bird call and Hermann begins to rain arrows down upon them. The second Verner releases an arrow, he darts to the next tree, reloads his weapon and continues firing. The Romans do not initially gather into battle formation. One measly archer does not concern them. A second later, he and Matthias lunge at the nearest Romans, slicing their throats as quickly as possible, before moving onto the next.

They duck back into the forest as Hermann and Verner attack from the opposite side. Their tactic confuses the Romans, and they scramble into a tight battle formation. They are in too narrow a space to form a proper formation and he and his compatriots make easy work of the few remaining soldiers.

He rushes down the line of women bound to one another with a long rope. He spots her towards the end of the line. Tears stream down her face, as she meets his eye. He cuts her bindings and she flings her arms around his neck.

“Are you hurt?” he asks her, as he runs his hand through her hair.

“I’ll be fine,” she answers with tears in her eyes.

Her bottom lip is cut and swollen, she has a few scrapes and bruises, and a shiner is developing under her left eye. But, she’s alive and that’s all that matters. They free the remainder of the villagers taken prisoner, but most of them have nowhere to go. So, he’s going to have to lead them to a village that’s an ally to the resistance. He can’t risk taking them back to the military encampment. 

He instructs Matthias and Hermann to lead the people to safety and Verner stays with him, Luna and Thusnelda. He is not letting her out of his sight. Not this time. She’s coming back with him and this is not a point he’s willing to debate. 

They make it back to the encampment and he leaves the women in Arminius’ hut, as he prepares for battle. If he hurries, he can catch up to the rest of them. He could _really_ use killing a few Romans right now. He’s getting ready to leave for the fight, when she finds him outside the hut.

“I don’t want you to go. Stay here. Protect us,” she begs.

He takes her hands in his.

“You know I can’t. I’ll be back, I promise,” he answers, as he kisses her forehead.

“You can’t possibly promise that,” she states with a frown.

He pulls the cord of rope that hangs around his neck over his head and places it in her hand. She opens her palm to find an ivory carving of a wolf on the rope cord.

“I want you to hold onto this for me. There are two things in this world that not even death can keep me from: you and my mother’s wolf necklace.”

He kisses her hard and has to forcefully wrench himself away. He turns on his heel and takes off running into the woods.

As soon as he catches up with the army, Arminius is desperate to know the status of his beloved Thusnelda. He explains that they are more or less unhurt, besides some scrapes and bruises, and are back at their camp. He can see the relief wash over his friend and knows the feeling. If something had happened to his Lucy…

She can call herself multiple names, but she’ll always be _his Lucy_. He knows she’s safe, but when he recalls her blackening eye and split lip, the rage bubbles up in him again. He doesn’t have to wait long to use it, as they spy the Romans marching towards them in the distance. The Romans are led by Publius Quinctilius Varus, a man Arminius knows well. After all, he was once this Roman’s trusted advisor, prior to secretly banding together fifty warring Germanic tribes to fight against them.

The Romans only have three legions and their auxiliaries in the entire realm of Germania. The other eight legions have been forced east of the Rhine River to combat a rebellion in the Balkans. Arminius knew Varus’ customs and habits, including the fact that the Roman Commander would soon be leading his troops back towards the Rhine where they would winter. Still playing his role as Varus’ trusted advisor, Arminius convinces him to take a detour through unfamiliar territory in order to quell an uprising that Arminius himself fabricated. 

The Roman forces consist of three legions, six cohorts of auxiliary troops and three squadrons of cavalry. A large number of civilian camp followers also accompany them. Their path is narrow and muddy, necessitating the need to march out of combat formation and stretching the lines to a perilously long length. Wet leaves cover the forest floor from this morning’s storm, and a dense fog drapes over the area.

They attack the Romans as the torrential rains begin again, using the weather and terrain to their advantage. They pin the Romans in, allowing no chance of escape. Varus commits suicide, as do many of his officers. They slaughter the rest and either sacrifice or enslave the survivors.

They return to their camp a week later, victorious and exhausted. Arminius and Thusnelda are immediately married and retire to their own hut for some well-deserved rest and leisure time. Luna shares his hut with him. They try to make up for lost time as much as they can. He feels like he’s on top of the world right now. _Maybe this is the life he can be happy in._

She tries to give him his wolf necklace back, but he insists she keep it.

“I cannot. You gave it to me to hold onto, so you’d have something to come back for,” she replies, as they lie in each other’s arms in bed.

“You, my love, are the only reason I need. You’re the reason I breathe, the reason I smile, the reason I fight. Without you, I am lost.”

She’s staring at him with wide eyes and he internally panics that he’s gone too far, overstepping some boundary he was unaware of. She cups his face in her hands and catches his eye, as if she’s searching the depths of his soul for something.

“You’re serious, aren’t you?” she asks, as she raises her eyebrow.

“I love you. I have for a long, long time. You might not believe me, but I know we are meant to be together. Fate keeps thrusting us together because we’re soulmates,” he explains.

Suddenly, she kisses him as if she’s going to devour him whole. She pushes him into the mattress and takes control from there on out (which he does not mind one bit). She fucks him that night as if she is claiming his soul. He’s not even able to articulate why he feels this way, he just knows that something is different between them tonight. Her eyes are boring into his soul, as she rocks in a hypnotic rhythm. Perhaps the gods of her people have blessed them. He knows the gods of the Spartans and the gods of his own people surely didn’t.

They are married during the harvest moon according to her wishes. He’s never been the most devout, but tonight he will go through whatever ceremony, rite or prayer she wants him to. He doesn’t care, as long as she’s his wife by the end of it.

As soon as it is official, they dance and drink with the rest of the villagers and celebrate the harvest as they always would. After they share their wedding celebration with the villagers for a while, he grabs her hand and pulls her towards the woods. 

“Where are we going? I thought you’d want to go back to the hut by now?” she asks in confusion.

He does not answer, just smirks back at her and pulls her further down the footpath. They stroll along the moonlit path, until they reach that same grove of trees along the river where they first made love. This time, however, he has prepared ahead of time. He sprawls a blanket across the fallen leaves, then removes two ceramic bowls and a jug of wine from a basket up against the tree. 

“What is all this?”

“By the light of the moon,” he answers with a smirk, as he takes a seat on the blanket.

“What?”

“You once told me that a child of the moon takes her lover by the light of it. Well, your wolf wants to take his wife by the light of the moon,” he teases, as he taps the empty space next to him.

She takes a seat on the blanket. They begin kissing softly, as they gently peel the other’s clothes off. They kiss and grope, rolling back and forth, until she finally winds up on top. He’s expecting her to sink down on him, but she hesitates.

“What’s the matter?” he questions.

“Nothing,” she answers, as she leans over and pours some wine into one of the goblets.

He stares up at her in confusion and watches as she lifts the goblet into the air. 

“Blessed mother of the moon, I ask that you consecrate this union and bless us with your wisdom for years to come,” she recites before taking a sip of the wine.

She leans down and brings the cup to his lips, as he does the same. Then, to his surprise, she pours a small amount onto his neck and then proceeds to lick it off of him slowly. Next, she pours some wine on his chest and sucks marks into his skin, as she sucks the liquid up. Lastly, she pours some onto his cock and sets her mouth on him, sucking and licking up every last bit, as he squirms in pleasure beneath her. She pours a little more and takes him fully in her mouth, which causes him to buck his hips up in response. His hand is tangling in her hair, gripping firmly, but not yanking it. She steers him right to the edge of the cliff, but does not throw him over just yet.

She crawls up his body, kisses him possessively once more, and then sinks down on him slowly. He lets out a hiss as she does so, and she tilts her head back and bays like a wolf, as she rides him mercilessly. Her laughter drips with a tinge of sinfulness. He never wants to forget this moment for as long as he is doomed to walk this Earth. She has never been more beautiful to him than she is right now, her pale skin emitting an eerie glow, as the moon glimmers on her skin. 

“I love you,” she whispers.

“I love you too. I always have and I always will.”

Unfortunately, the campaign to rid themselves of the Romans continues on, which takes him away from his beautiful wife for long stretches at a time. At first, the tribes are successful and annihilate the Romans’ presence east of the Rhine River. 

The Roman retaliation is slow and calculating, supplying an entire new army on the orders of Emperor Tiberius himself. Arminius and his men suffer a series of losses to Germanicus, the newly appointed Roman Commander and nephew to the Emperor. Germanicus’ troops build a fort on Mount Taunus and lead their campaigns from their base there. 

The war has been waging for years now and some of the tribal leaders have come to believe that he and his brother-in-law, Arminius, are amassing too much power for their liking. The once small faction of tribes who are pro-Roman, have now grown exponentially. The worst of the offenders is their own father-in-law, Marbod. After all these years, he still harbors ill-will against both men for marrying his daughters.

Marbod, leader of the Marcomanni tribe, decides to make a deal with Germanicus, but regrets it the second he does. Germanicus leads a series of successful skirmishes against them, and takes both Luna and Thusnelda captive.

When word of this finally reaches him, rage is not a sufficient enough word to describe how he feels. He leaves the main army with Arminius’ blessing and tries in vain for years to rescue her and her sister from the Romans’ clutches. The last credible information he receives, informs him that the women have been taken to Rome to be sold in the slave markets. He _cannot_ leave her to that fate, _cannot_ fathom her being beaten, abused or worse. He also _cannot_ march into Roman territory and take her back. He doesn’t know Rome, doesn’t speak the language and would stick out terribly with his long hair. If he marches in there, he’ll wind up becoming a slave himself. His only hope, albeit a razor-thin one, is to try and intercept them before they arrive in Rome, but the chances of this being successful are not good. Still, he must try. He makes it across the Rhine, but is captured and executed not long after. His last thoughts are of revenge this time. He even smiles as they swing the sword at his neck. His revenge will come in the next life or the one after that, but it _will_ come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With the exception of Flynn and Lucy's characters to this story, it is the historical account of Arminius and his fight against the Romans. It is still one of the greatest defeats Rome ever suffered, as well as the main reason they were not able to completely conquer most of Germania. In the end, Arminius' own people turned on him, because they were afraid he had become too powerful. 
> 
> I just thought his story was worth repeating and perfect to insert my beloved Garcy into. Hope it's enjoyable.


	6. Rome

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flynn finds Lucy once again, but major obstacles stand in the way of their love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for the trifecta: smut, violence and language. In all seriousness, this chapter has a few items that might be sensitive in nature, including, but not limited to, infidelity; domestic violence; slavery; graphic sex; and death (you know, basically everything Roman).
> 
> I'm sorry for what I'm about to do to you, but please remember that I do have a plan and this story will eventually have a happy ending.

**_Rome (98 A.D.)_ **

He finds her the third time by complete accident. He didn’t expect it. The first two times, it had been thousands and hundreds of years between their meetings. This, was barely a hundred years. It’s disheartening, finding her here in this cesspool of society; a golden goddess among the gluttony, depravity and debauchery that is Rome.

In this life, he is known as Garcius Flinnicus: slave, gladiator, champion. He can offer her nothing. Even if he were lucky enough to win his freedom, he would not be able to provide a comfortable life for her. He only knows how to fight. He has no other skills that would be in demand. 

In honor of the upcoming Lupercalia celebration, Emperor Trajan commissions two weeks of games. He is to fight the first day. Fight he does, winning easily, but with that dramatic flair the crowd has come to love and expect from him. He is aware before the fight that the Emperor and a bunch of important dignitaries are in attendance. He pays them no mind like usual. Perhaps, he should pay attention better. Maybe then, he would’ve seen her, and been able to prepare himself.

Instead, he sits on his bed in the ludus, chains on his wrists, muscles sore and achy from battle. The lanista informs him that a rich matron has made “a donation” to the ludus in his name. He knows _exactly_ what this means. It’s something the gladiators speak about to each other, but never outside of the walls of the ludus. Rich matrons pay for the bravest and strongest gladiators to pleasure them. Many of the men consider it a perk of the job, but he-he only has an interest in one woman. A woman he most likely won’t find again for a couple hundred years.

The door to his room opens, and the lanista and two guards enter. They release him from his chains and march him up to the lanista’s personal villa. Once he is there, the servants bathe him, anoint him with oil, and inspect his body for wounds. You can’t have the brave champion bleeding on a noble lady, now can you? 

He sits on the large bed as the servant instructs, and his chains remake their re-acquaintance with his wrist. He’s only clad in his subligaculum and sandals. The door opens and the lanista enters, a woman directly behind him. 

“My lady, may I present our champion: Garcius Flinnicus of Gaul,” the lanista bellows.

“I’m Thracian,” he corrects.

He turns around as he says this, and almost loses his balance when he sees her. _Her_. _His love._ Lucy, Lucera, Luna. Doesn’t matter to him. She’s still the woman he loves and _has_ loved through the ages. He’ll love her now, too, whatever her name is in this life. 

The lanista sidles up to him and whispers into his ear, “Do as the lady wants. Make her happy. Hurt her, and you’ll wish for death over what I will do to you!”

He nods back in acknowledgment, knowing full well he would never hurt any woman, let alone, this one. The lanista turns to leave, and the woman stops him with a hand to his forearm.

“Must he be in chains?”

“It’s for your protection, my lady.”

“I want you to remove them. Now!”

“Yes, my lady.”

His face wears a ridiculous smirk, as the lanista removes the chains. Once he leaves, she peers at him from under her palla. She appears nervous, and he desperately wants her to remember any one of their past lives together. He knows she will not, though.

She strolls over to the bed hesitantly, and sits far enough away to still provide him space, yet close enough she could touch him if she wants to. He aches for her to touch him. He is starving for her, famished from her absence.

“I’m sorry, Garcius was it?”

He nods. Verbal expressions are beyond his capabilities right now. 

“I-I’m Lucilla.”

He says nothing. Just commits this iteration’s name to his memory. _Lucilla. Lucilla._ She absently plays with the edge of her palla. _She’s definitely nervous._ He calms himself, afraid she will get cold feet and back out of this.

“Are you alright, my lady?”

“Lucilla. Just call me Lucilla, please?”

“Lucilla.”

It rolls off of his tongue like he’s spoken her name a thousand times. She is as beautiful as ever, and he gazes into her chestnut-colored eyes with longing and lust. She meets his gaze and holds it for quite a while, before she turns away and blushes. 

“I’ve never done this before,” she states shyly.

He raises his eyebrow, clearly in a state of confusion over what she means by this. He decides to break the tension with his trademark deadpan humor.

“You’re a married woman. Surely, you’ve done _this_ before.”

Chuckling, she slides closer to him.

“I mean, I have never done this with a-”

“Slave?”

“Gladiator before.”

“Neither have I,” he jokes.

That earns another laugh from her, and she starts to relax even more. She leans close to his ear, gliding her hand up his arm as she does so. 

“I saw you fight. You’re not only entertaining, but you clearly have talent in the arena. I could not stop thinking about you. I _must_ have you. I just have to,” she explains, as she places a kiss to his neck. 

This iteration of her is aggressive. He usually has a period of some type of courtship with her, but obviously, that it not happening here. He wants her more than anything right now. One day without her is too long, too much to bear. She places another kiss to his jawline, and he smirks back, as he turns his head and meets her lips. The kisses are soft and musing at first, then they are rough, hungry and desperate. He lets her set the pace. He doesn’t know her in this lifetime, doesn’t know how she likes it. He can only try what he knows from the past and see how responsive she is. 

He trails kisses down her neck, scraping his teeth along her satiny skin every few inches. Her eyes close, and she lets out a small moan. He unclasps the fibulae that fasten her blue silk stola, dropping it down her curves to the floor. They are now on equal footing, thin layers of cloth all that lie between them.

She pushes him down on the bed and straddles him. She grinds her hips against him, as she trails kisses down his chest. She sits up and undoes the leather fascia from around her breasts, tossing it to the side of the bed. _She grows more beautiful every single second._ He flips them so that he’s now on top, as his mouth and hands find her breasts. He sucks, kisses and licks his way down her body, as she arches her back into him. He pulls down the cloth between her legs, as he continues his ministrations down her body. She is quite responsive to his every caress and touch, and reaches up to pull at his subligaculum. He wants to savor this time with her. It might be his only chance in this lifetime. Even if she decides to pay him another visit, he knows he will not have long with her in this life. After all, most gladiators never make it beyond their tenth bout. There are the rare few who live long enough to earn their freedom, and he prays he’s good enough to be one of them. Right now, all he can think about is her, and how badly he needs be inside her.

She reaches down to guide him in, but he’s perfectly aligned with her entrance. He pumps into her and she moans and rocks her hips in response. He continues to pump into her, kissing every inch of skin like a starving man. Gasping and panting, she pulls him into a frenzied kiss, curling her tongue around his. She cries out as she comes, clawing at his back and he finishes a few moments later. She curls into him as they separate, which surprises him. Not that he minds at all. His body craves the feeling of hers like it craves air to breathe. 

After a few moments, she pulls herself away and gathers her clothing. She tugs her dress back on, then wraps the palla around her neck, but doesn’t drape it over her head. She strolls back towards him, as he sits back up on the bed, still riding the high of making love to her. She takes his cheeks in her hands, as he lifts his emerald eyes and meets hers. She leans in and plants another kiss to his lips, soft and lingering. 

“Thank you.”

“Anytime,” he responds.

“You may regret that,” she sasses.

“Never.”

She pulls the palla over her head, as she turns to leave the room.

He can’t help but think this could be the last time he sees her for a long time. He’s half inclined to just lose his next bout and get it over with, since he knows he can never be with her here. The thought of waiting is not particularly appealing to him, as she will not die for a while in this life. He decides against it. Even if he can only get a glimpse of her in the arena, it’s worth it.

Three days later, he is in the courtyard of the ludus, training new recruits. The lanista halts the training exercise, and summons him up to the terrace. 

“Senator Loginus, may I present my champion, Gladius Garcius Flinnicus.”

The Senator eyes him as if he is a piece of meat. It’s not in a sexual way, but more akin to inspection of an animal one is considering purchasing. It makes his skin crawl. He will have no choice or recourse if the lanista sells him to the Senator. He is a slave, nothing more than property to buy and sell as his master pleases. 

The Senator draws closer to him and grabs his bicep.

“He appears strong. When did you last fight him?”

“Three days ago,” the lanista replies.

“He looks well. How much?”

“Unfortunately, he is not for sale.”

“Name your price. Everything is always for sale,” Senator Loginus counters.

“Why would I sell him? He makes me rich. Not only in the arena, but here at the ludus as well.”

“Fine. Are there others you would be willing to sell?” the Senator inquires.

“I’m sorry Senator, I do not understand why you want to buy one in the first place. They are only good for a few things, mostly fighting and dying,” the lanista answers.

“My wife has taken an interest in the games, for some reason. I thought if I gave her games in our villa, she would not have to come here anymore.”

The lanista and the Senator begin to walk away, as they continue their conversation. He stays where he is, and waits until the lanista finally waves him off. He goes back to the courtyard and continues his training with the new recruits.

That evening, the soldiers come and escort him back to the villa. He receives the same treatment as the last time, and is led to the same room. She is already there waiting for him. She is sitting on the bed, but rises to her feet once he enters the room. 

“Didn’t get your fill last time?” he jokes.

She doesn’t answer. She pushes up on her tiptoes and crashes her lips upon his. She is desperate, clutching and clawing at his back. He bends slightly, slides his hands under her stola and slowly up her thighs. She lifts her legs in response, and he pulls her up as she wraps her legs around his waist. He backs her up against the wall and plants kisses down her neck. 

“I don’t have much time,” she whispers into his ear.

He groans in disapproval, as he continues to trail kisses from her neck to her chest. 

“I know you fight tomorrow. If you win, I will try to see you again, but I could not risk it. I had to see you now. I need to feel you now,” she confesses.

He grips her thighs harder and grinds against her as he kisses her deeply. Her hands wander down to his subligaculum and begin to undo the ties. He pushes her cloth underwear to the side and slides into her. 

He sets a quick pace, knowing she’s short on time. There’s also the added bonus of winning tomorrow to potentially do this again. _He really wants to do this again_. 

The door bangs with every thrust, as he releases everything he has. Her moaning is growing louder, as she gets closer to the edge. He quiets her with another kiss, as she shudders in orgasm. He keeps pumping into her until she has a second, and then he finishes as well.

He gently places her back down onto the ground. She leans against the wall, as she straightens her clothing. She cups his cheeks in her hands and stares at his eyes.

“Win tomorrow.”

He nods back, kisses her once again and then she is gone.

The next day, he enters the arena with a little extra swagger in his step. The crowd eats his antics up like it’s the best bread they have ever eaten. They chant his name, “Garcius, Garcius.” He raises his sword to the sky in recognition.

He turns to the Emperor’s box to salute him. His breath catches when he sees her. Her hair is up in an elaborate braid, golden circles grace her ears, and her dress is a silvery-blue color. She truly resembles the earthly embodiment of a goddess. 

He salutes the Emperor, then fixes his gaze back upon her. She is a guest in the Emperor’s box, which is a rare occurrence in and of itself. A slight smirk appears on his lips, until he sees a hand rest upon her shoulder. Rage fills inside him at the thought of another man touching her. He knows he should not feel this way, but he does. He grows even angrier when he gets a glimpse of the man the hand belongs to. It’s the same smug shithead who tried to buy him yesterday. _This-this is her husband?_

Strangely, a new found pride rises within him. He now has another reason to win this fight; the satisfaction of knowing she’ll be fucking him and not her husband later. 

His challenger enters the arena and the battle begins. He toys with his prey at first, skillfully dodging his blows at the last possible second to heighten the excitement in the crowd. He glances at her out of the corner of his eye every so often. Every time he does, she seems to show her worry for his safety throughout her posture and facial expressions. She is obviously invested into the outcome of the fight, and this fact is not lost on either himself or her husband.

He allows the other man one more glancing blow towards him, before he turns the tide of the fight in his favor. With slashes to the back of the man’s legs, his opponent falls to his knees. He turns towards the Emperor’s box, waiting for instructions of mercy or death. The crowd chants for death and the Emperor’s grants their wish. He plunges his sword into the back of the man’s neck and the battle is over. He raises his bloody sword skyward and the crowd roars and chants his name once again.

He arrives back at the ludus, bathes and then feasts as the champion he is. He anticipates nightfall, longing to have her in his arms again. 

Night falls, but she never arrives.

Two nights later, the lanista summons him. Given that the man almost sold him the other day, he has no idea what to expect from this. He is led up to the private villa and into one of the rooms on the side. He is alone. It’s not the same room he has been in previously. This room seems much more elaborate, if just for the lack of shackles on the wall. It is most definitely a cubiculum, since it’s directly off the atrium, with a bed, couch and small table. The floor is tiled in brilliant mosaics and outlines the bed. The bed is large and made of some type of dark wood, the mattress soft and stuffed to the gill with straw and wool. 

He sits there for what feels like an eternity, when the door finally opens. She steps into the room, and removes the palla from her head. Her stola is plain white, with golden fibulae to clasp it at her shoulders. A vision of pure beauty, she crosses the space between them in an instant.

“I’m sorry I could not come sooner. My husband is getting suspicious, I think.”

 _Her husband. Great_. _Nothing will kill the mood faster than thoughts of that ass._ She grabs him and kisses him harshly. Pulling him back to the bed, she pushes him down on it, as she unties his subligaculum. Before he knows what’s happening, she takes him fully into her mouth, stroking his shaft simultaneously. It feels amazing, but it’s not as amazing as she is. Her tongue and lips bring him close to the edge, and then she comes back up for air, and kisses his lips again.

He flips her so she’s on her back now, and opens the clasps on her stola. He pulls it down slowly, pressing kisses to her skin, until he meets her breasts. He takes one in his mouth as his hand massages the other. She’s already arching her back up into him, and the pleasurable moans emanating from her goad him into further ministrations down her body. 

He pulls the dress completely off of her, then trails kisses up her thigh to her core. His tongue explores her folds first, then he inserts two fingers. She’s already wet for him, and he works her for a while before he sucks her clit and she falls apart. 

He holds her in his arms and kisses her softly, as she comes back down from her high. As soon as she does, she straddles him and trails kisses down his chest. 

“I cannot get enough of you. I know it sounds crazy, but it’s like you’ve gotten into my blood somehow, and I just can’t seem to shake you,” she says, as she takes him in her hand.

“I don’t ever want you to.”

She guides him into her entrance, and they find a comfortable rhythm after a slow start. She’s a lot more affectionate and tender with him this time, and he thinks she’s falling in love with him. He knows that look well enough by now, and by the time she comes, she certainly has it.

They lie in each other’s arms for a while after that, before they have one more quick romp. She needs to leave, and even though it pains him, he must allow her to go. 

“I will try to see you again soon,” she says as she dresses.

“I hope so.”

She turns back when she reaches the door, smiles at him one last time, and disappears into the night.

As Lupercalia draws closer, the games’ end ever near, he worries what will happen. Will she still come to see him? Will the lanista take some of his champions on the gladiator circuit until the weekly games resume in Rome?

He has one more fight to make it through. It will be his toughest of the entire games. He cannot afford any distractions, which is exactly what she is any time she’s in his vicinity. Today’s bout is a reenactment of The Battle of Alesia, where Julius Caesar defeated the Celtic Gauls in 52 BC. He dislikes reenactment battles, since the outcome is always predetermined and any variation from what’s expected is never well received. He can only pray that he will be part of the Roman contingent for the battle, and not cast as one of the Celtic Gauls. His chances of survival will heavily depend on it.

As luck has it, he is initially cast as one of the Celtic Gauls until the lanista insists he be placed with the Romans instead. They make the switch, and he once again survives another bout in the arena. Miraculously, he is unmarred once it is over. 

The entire squad of the victorious gladiators are bathed, fed and then lined up outside the Coliseum. All are unsure what is happening, until one of the lanista’s from another ludus stands on a platform and speaks.

“In glorification of your victory in the arena, you have been chosen to attend a prestigious Lupercalia celebration in the private villa of Senator Nicolinus. Any man who does not obey the rules, will rue the day they were ever born.”

The men are shuffled into the carts and transported out of the city to the countryside. It is evening by the time they arrive, and they are led into a back entrance to a side atrium. They are separated into two groups, and he is led again into another atrium. As he stands in a line waiting for whatever is about to happen to _actually_ happen, he hears the shuffling of feet and then the door being shut. 

Standing before him are seven women, all of noble birth based upon their dress. Their heads are hidden by their pallas, but he recognizes one immediately. It’s her, it’s Lucilla. 

Another woman steps forward and informs the servant that these men will do nicely. The servant directs the men to the atrium door and ushers them into another room of the villa. Armed Roman Centurions guard the room and keep them separate from the other gladiator group. A bevy of servants enter the room carrying clean tunics for the men. The other group of gladiators are given red and blue tunics and split up into two teams. He’s seen this before and knows exactly what is going to happen to them. They’re going to have a private fight. He’s thankful that he doesn’t have to, but that still doesn’t explain what purpose or role he will play in this decadent Roman celebration.

The servants present his group with white tunics and order the men to change. Not affording them any privacy at all, he strips down and dons the white tunic right there and then. Once they have all changed, they are led down a corridor and told to line up on the balcony. The head servant inspects them meticulously, then hands half of them silver serving trays. The men with trays are escorted off of the balcony towards the kitchens. Having not received a tray, he stands there and waits. 

More servants appear and one of them hands him a silver pitcher full of wine. After receiving instructions from the head servant, he takes his position in between two chairs on the balcony and waits again. 

The women from earlier reappear on the balcony, but this time they are in the company of their husbands. His eyes meet hers, as she passes by him and takes a seat on the far side of the balcony.

He serves wine to the couple in front of him for the next few hours, as the other group of gladiators fight for the crowd’s entertainment. He tries his best not to stare at her, but does sneak glimpses when he’s positive no one is looking. 

Most of the women appear either bored to tears, or sit on the edge of their seats cheering for their favorite fighters. A few of the women engage in conversation with their husbands. His love, however, does not appear to be bored or happy. Instead, she looks….frightened. This concerns him greatly. Her husband is a real piece of work, hanging on her in an unsavory manner at the same time that he gropes the slave girls. Most of the men are acting like the despicable pigs they are, and their wives seem to be as appalled by the behavior as his beloved is. 

As soon as the last fight is complete, the men bid goodbye to their wives and retire to the lower portion of the expansive villa, but not before they take a slave girl or two to entertain them for the evening. The women get up from their chairs and congregate together, as he and the rest of the men are paraded in front of them.

The mistress of the villa, Senator Nicolinus’ wife, stands and addresses the head servant.

“Bring the oil!” she declares with glee.

The rest of the women become alive with a raucous cheer. The servants disappear for a few minutes, then reappear with a large tub of olive oil.

“Ladies, please feel free to sample tonight’s entertainment before you make your selections,” the Senator’s wife announces.

Giggles and gasps continue to emanate from the women, as the Senator’s wife approaches him. She skims her hands up his chest slowly until she reaches the collar of his white tunic. Suddenly, she yanks down on the collar, tearing the tunic and exposing one side of his chest. She does the same thing to the other side, then dips her fingers into the oil and proceeds to rub it onto his chest in a seductive manner.

“Ladies, feast your eyes on this specimen.”

He makes eye contact with his beloved. If looks could kill, the Senator’s wife would be dead by now. Jealousy is written across her face and it doesn’t appear that she’s even trying to hide it. The Senator’s wife steps to the right and grips up the biceps of the man standing next to him. A second later, another woman is grabbing his ass. He feels like a piece of meat that’s been thrown into the lion’s cage.

The next thing he knows, he feels a tug on his tunic at his waist. A voice calls out in an authoritative tone, “He’s mine.”

The women stop groping him for a second and move on to the next man. There, standing before him, is the woman he loves. She dips her finger into the bowl of oil and runs a straight line down his chest.

“No one else gets to have you if I have something to say about it,” she declares with a sly smile.

She takes his hand in hers and leads him down a corridor to another room. As soon as she pulls him inside and shuts the door, his mouth is on her. 

“I missed you,” he whispers.

“Not as much as I’ve missed you,” she whispers back.

She leads him towards the bed, planting kisses along his jaw line the entire time.

“Wait, what about your husband? He could find us at any time and I don’t have a weapon,” he asks.

“Forget about him. That bastard will be busy all night fucking his slave girls. Trust me,” she responds, as she unclasps her dress.

He tears the rest of his torn tunic off his body and crashes his mouth onto hers. 

“I love you and I want to be with you. We can run away together. I’ve stashed some money away for us. I just have to figure out how to get you out of the ludus unseen. I thought about doing it tonight, but there’s just too many guards here,” she suggests.

The irony is not lost on him. This is how they ended up trapped in this endless cycle: running off together. But if this is the only way they can _truly_ be together in this life, he will risk everything to see it through. His only real concern is what her husband might to do her if they are caught. He’ll be killed immediately, but he does not fear death. He never has. What he fears the most is Lucy getting hurt and he not being able to protect her.

“You know that nothing would make me happier, my love. It’s just so risky and I worry what your husband would do if-”

“He wouldn’t dare do anything to me. My family is too close to the Emperor,” she interrupts.

“Lucy, I-I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to you.”

“Lucy. I love your little pet name for me,” she breathes into his ear, as she nibbles on it.

They need to discuss this plan more, but her advances on him are a welcome distraction. He craves her with every fiber of his being, and he can no longer delay his desire. He presses her onto the mattress, as his mouth explores her curves. She hooks her legs around his hips, prodding him to enter her right now.

“Please, I need you now,” she begs.

That’s all he needs to hear. He takes her then and they make love multiple times during the night.

When morning comes, he wakes to find her still asleep in his arms. He places a gentle kiss to her hairline as she stirs. 

“Good morning, my love.”

“Mmm,” she murmurs back, as she curls into him even more.

“I should probably leave soon. I’ve been hearing noises from the hall for a little while now,” he informs her, as he places a soft kiss to her lips.

“No, don’t leave. I don’t want you to leave me ever again,” she whines, as she tightens her grip around him.

“If it was up to me, I’d spend every hour of every single day with you,” he replies with a huge smile.

Suddenly, a loud bang can be heard coming from the hallway.

“Where is she?” a voice yells in a demanding tone.

She sits bolt upright in the bed, eyes bulging out of her head.

“Oh, no.”

The door flings open in the next instance. Her husband barrels into the room, still stumbling drunk from last night’s debauchery.

“You fucking whore!” her husband screams, as his face turns red.

He instinctively puts himself in between them. Protecting her is the most important thing now. He knows that look in men, has seen it on the battlefield a hundred times. It is pure rage, unable to be tamed by any rational thought or argument.

Her husband tries to go around him and grab her arm, but he stands up and pushes him back.

“Get out of the way slave!”

He refuses to yield a clear path for this asshole to hurt her, so his feet remain cemented to the ground. 

“I said move!” her husband screeches.

He does not even flinch. He can feel her hand on his back as she hides behind him.

“Fuck you! Stay away from her!” he growls.

“I will have you beaten the entire way back to Rome, slave!”

“I don’t care. You’re not going to hurt her,” he states adamantly.

Her husband yells for the guards, who rush into the room a moment later. Four of them tackle him, before he feels a sharp jab to his ribs. He glances down just in time to see the blade, before her husband withdraws it.

All he can hear are her screams, as the asshole drags her completely naked out into the hallway. He collapses onto the floor, reaching his arm out to her one last time. The guards continue to beat him, until he takes his last breath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Emperor Trajan-Roman Emperor from 98 to 117 A.D.
> 
> Lupercalia-A festival held in Ancient Rome on the 15th of February to promote fertility and ward off disasters.
> 
> Ludus-A Roman gladiator school.
> 
> Lanista-Leader in charge of a gladiator school in Ancient Rome.
> 
> Subligaculum-loincloth worn by gladiators in Ancient Rome.
> 
> Palla-a voluminous square of cloth draped around the body as a mantle or wrap, worn by women of Ancient Rome.
> 
> Fibulae-a clasp or brooch, often ornamented, used by the Ancient Greeks and Romans.
> 
> Stola-a long, loose tunic or robe, with or without sleeves, worn by women of Ancient Rome.
> 
> Fascia-a band of cloth worn around the breasts by women of Ancient Rome.
> 
> Cubiculum-A private room in a domus, an Ancient Roman house occupied by a high-status family used for sleep and sex as well as business meetings.


	7. Caithness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flynn encounters a VERY different version of Lucy in this life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoy reading this one as much as I had writing it. Thanks always for kudos and comments. They keep the muse going. Prepare yourself for an epic clash of Viking and Celtic cultures.

**_Caithness (866 A.D.) (Modern Day Northern Scotland)_ **

He wakes to find himself in another place, another time, another life. They call him Finley here. He now lives in the kingdom of Cait, in the northernmost part of the island called Britania. 

He scans the coastline from the shadow of the forest. Northmen have been raiding up and down the coast, so his people are taking turns as lookouts. They mostly raid the southern part of the coast, but lately have been making quick raids along the north. Today is his day to serve as sentry. 

There was a fierce storm the night prior and the beach is filled debris. He spies something on the beach and makes his way down to the water. Wood planks litter the shore. He has been here long enough to know it’s the telltale sign of a shipwreck. 

He crouches in the dunes, as he scans the horizon for signs of survivors. Three bodies lie on the beach, none of them moving. He unsheathes his sword and cautiously makes his way towards the first body. The man does not draw breath. He is definitely a Northman, though. They are not entirely different from his own people in many respects, but they _are_ different. The dead man has the signature beard and long hair braided down his back that is typical of many of the Northmen. He removes the man’s axe and slides it into his own belt. 

He strolls down the beach even further and finds another Northman. This one is older, but he does not have a long braid. His head is shaven clean and it is filled with their signature blue tattoos. The Northman is armed with only a sword, which he decides to leave with its owner. Their iron is far superior to the Northmen’s. He only took the axe because he liked the carvings on it.

The third body is not far from the second. As he gets closer, his shock is palpable. It’s a woman. She’s wearing pants, which in his world is strange indeed. She also dons calf-high leather boots with cloth leg wrappings, and a blue tunic with a leather breastplate overtop. Her hair is a long, dark brown color, with braids on the sides. She’s laying on her side and it appears she may still be breathing.

He turns her over and the shock runs through his body like a bolt of lightning. It’s _her_. Surely, fate cannot be so cruel as to have him find her, only for him to lose her the instant he does. It has been seven hundred and sixty-eight years since he saw her last. He had almost given up hope that he would ever see her again it had been so long. Even half dead, she is still the most beautiful thing he has ever laid eyes on. She is barely breathing and has visible wounds that appear to be still bleeding. Her sword is still sheathed at her side. He bends down next to her and gingerly plucks her up and into his arms. He moves quickly as he carries her up the dunes and back through the forest.

He brings her back to his village and the healer tends to her wounds. She has not regained consciousness yet, so he has yet to encounter the inevitable dilemma he faces. He does not speak the language of the Northmen. He doubts she can speak his language either. It will be the first time he has had this problem with her, since they were always part of the same culture. Rome was the only exception, but he had been a slave of the Romans long enough to pick up a good chunk of the language that it hadn’t been a problem.

The Romans referred to his people as Picts, according to the local Britons that interacted with them before they left the island for good. It meant “painted ones” in their language. His people do use indigo and woad mixtures to paint their bodies before going into battle. They also tattoo their skin like the Northmen, though generally not their heads and faces. He knows the Romans considered his people as nothing more than a bunch of savages, but they were the only island natives to repel the Roman advances and incursions into their territory. 

He removes her sword so she doesn’t wake up in the middle of this and start swinging at the healer. He helps the healer remove the leather breastplate and tunic, leaving her breasts covered by a thin piece of cloth. As the healer turns her to her side, he gets a good view of the wolf tattooed on her back. Bearing its teeth, the ferocious beast is cobalt in color, and spans the entirety of her back. Knots and interlaced patterns blend into the design seamlessly. It is not lost on him at that moment that he is witnessing a work of art on a work of art. She has two visible wounds on her back and shoulder. The healer unties her pants and removes them as well, finding two more wounds on her thighs, along with several more tattoos of knots and interlacing patterns. The healer cleans and closes her wounds with ease without uttering a word. The healer does not appear to be pleased with him. He gives him a knowing look and hands him a small bowl with a medicinal paste. He doesn’t instruct him any further. He just leaves.

There is no doubt the village elders will be upset with him for bringing her here. He cannot explain the true reason why he did it either. They will think he has gone mad for sure. 

He washes his hands in a bucket of water and scoops his hand into the bowl of medicinal paste. He spreads it across the wounds on her thighs first. He then proceeds to smear it across her upper body wounds before he washes his hands again. He then rips multiple pieces of cloth and wraps the cloth around her wounds.

Her old clothes are in tatters and are dripping with blood. As he goes to throw them into the fire, he spies a silvery object tied to her belt. He inspects the object, and finds it’s some type of charm or amulet. It is made of heavy silver and tied to a thin leather cord. The charm is in the shape of a hammer, and is embellished with a carving of runes on it. He unties the cord and places the charm on the table next to the bed. He does not have clothing that will fit her, so he covers her with the furs on the bed and disappears out of the hut.

Thankfully, a neighbor agrees to lend him some women’s clothes and he makes his way back to the hut to find her still asleep. Before he pulls the dress over her head, he traces the wolf tattoo on her back lightly. It intrigues him, having never come across a version of her like this before. 

She sleeps for a few hours, and just as he is sitting down for his evening meal, she stirs. She panics when she views her surroundings. Sitting up, she gazes around in wonder until their eyes meet and she reaches for her non-existent sword. It is then that she notices her clothing and her bandages and seems to calm down slightly. 

She curls her legs to her chest and groans in pain as she does so. He stands from his place by the fire and approaches her cautiously with a bowl of stew. 

“Er em ek?”

He has no idea what she’s asking. Guessing she’s asking about her current location, he tells her Cait. He can see her trying to decipher his response into something she can make sense of. 

“Katanes?”

He shakes his head. He has heard Northmen refer to his home as Katanes before. He points to himself and speaks again. 

“Finley.”

She does the same. 

“Lelya.”

He repeats it silently in his head. He needs to commit it to his memory like the others. She was Lucilla the last time they met, and Luna the time before that. 

He extends his hands with the bowl of stew. She looks at him with confusion at first, but understands once he mimics eating it. This version of her is wild and exotic and he cannot stop staring at her. Communication is almost impossible and his growing frustration is becoming evident.

She is in obvious pain and he feels horrible that he can do nothing to stop it, nothing to take it from her. She gets a spoonful or two of the stew into her before her hands begin to shake. He rushes to her bedside and grabs the bowl. She warily allows him to feeds her a few spoonfuls before wincing in pain. He sets the bowl down on the small wooden table next to the bed. She’s groaning and moaning in pain, as she tries to lie back in the bed. He reaches to help her, (out of habit), momentarily forgetting he is a complete stranger to her. He is not only a stranger, he is an enemy. She flinches and shoves herself over to the other side of the bed, tearing her bandages as a result.

He puts his hands up immediately, trying to show her he will not hurt her. He motions to the torn bandages on her thighs and picks up fresh cloth from the table. She somehow senses his intent, because she relaxes into the furs. Extending her leg to him, he takes the cloth and gently ties it around the wound. She is staring at him with a strange expression on her face that he cannot quite read. _Damn this language barrier._

He moves back from the bed to the bench by the fire and pours himself a bowl of stew. When he peers back, she is asleep. He needs to find a way to communicate with her. He has only met one other man who could speak both his language and the language of the Northmen. His name was Leod, a wanderer, who spoke many languages. His mother was a Briton, the original inhabitants of the southern portion of the island. His father, was a Northman. Legend has it, the man fell in love during a raid in the south and took a Briton as his wife. Whether any of it is true, he doesn’t know, nor does it particularly matter. He needs to find him. He needs to know everything there is to know about her and he cannot do that on his own. He also needs to find out if she is part of a larger invasion force. The Northmen usually choose to concentrate their raids on the eastern coastal regions more to the south, as well as the southern portion of the island. Since they continue to attack his people’s enemies in the south, namely the Saxon kingdoms of Wessex, Mercia and Northumbria, they pay them no mind. The Saxons are their bitterest enemies and more and more invade the island every year. 

Yet, he cannot leave her. No one else will help her here. He is already the village pariah for bringing her to their village. If she tries to escape, they will either let her or kill her. He can afford for neither to occur, so he asks a friend to ask around for Leod. It’s his last option at this point.

For four days, she lingers in his bed, barely eating or drinking. He diligently changes her bandages and applies the medicinal ointment. The tattoos still distract him every time. On the fourth day, he is in the middle of changing her bandages, when a man enters the hut.

Luckily, Leod has come. He explains what he needs and Leod agrees to help him, if only to speak to the fair shieldmaiden.

“Hvat ir ykkarr nafn?” Leod asks.

She eyes him suspiciously, having just heard Leod speak another language and then her own.

“Lelya, dóttir Jarl Leif.”

“Hvat verđa?” Leod questions.

“Veđr.”

“Meiri koma?”

“Likligr,” she responds with a shrug.

The conversation goes back and forth like that for a while. Her answers are short, but direct. Finally, Leod turns to him and asks what he can translate.

He thinks for a moment, then asks him to convey the fact that she is safe with him, he will not hurt her. Leod translates his sentiment and she nods in affirmation. 

“Does her name have meaning?” he asks with curiosity.

“It means bright one or shining one.”

 _Makes sense. Lucy means light, and she has always been that for him. This iteration should be no different then._ He then asks Leod if he will teach him some of her language, so they can communicate on their own. Leod says he is willing to do that.

He is about to offer him some ale and bread, when she tugs on Leod’s hand. She asks Leod a question and then gazes over at him as she waits for Leod’s response. Leod chuckles and then responds to her. She laughs as well, then grabs at her shoulder in pain. 

“What was that about?” he asks Leod.

“She asked me to teach her to speak to you in your language.”

_Great minds think alike apparently._

He smiles and hands Leod a cup of ale.

_Maybe fate is on his side this time._

__

Learning enough to speak to each other within a two week span, Leod wanders off to his next adventure. Some of his tribe has come to accept her, especially given the effort she puts forth to learn their language. 

They continue to teach each other, not only language, but also hunting and fishing techniques. Some villagers are still wary, but no other Northmen have come. 

Within a moon’s time, they are sharing the bed together. Nothing has happened, but he is hopeful that something might. He does not want her to feel she owes him anything. This woman is the most different version of Lucy he has yet to meet. Perhaps it’s the fact she is so different, he feels like he’s even more drawn to her. 

The next evening, during the celebration of Beltaine, she pulls him up from a sitting position and holds his hand as they dance with the other celebrants. The moonlight glistens off her pearly skin, as if it is made of stardust. Her dress drapes low enough in the back that a portion of her wolf tattoo is visible. When the moonlight hits it at the perfect angle, it appears like streaks of sapphire lightning as she spins and dances.

There is something different in the air tonight between them; a smoldering wildfire that is consuming them with unbridled desire. The fire highlights the wicked flicker in her eye. They dance for a little while, before she leads him by the hand to their shared hut.

Once inside, she pulls him towards the bed and gently pushes him down. He sits on the edge of the bed staring at her, hoping that what he thinks is about to happen actually will. Suddenly, she backs away from the bed and glides towards the exit. She shuts the curtain, then turns her head and gazes seductively back at him.

With her back still to him, she slowly pulls her dress down to her waist. She peeks back at him again, and allows the dress to fall to the floor. His eyes bug out of his head as they follow the path of the dress down her body. The blue of the tattoos are more prominent now, even if their only illumination is candlelight. He wants to run his tongue down every one of them in the worst way. 

She crooks a finger at him, beckoning him towards her. He rises from the bed and crosses the room in a flash, hovering over her naked body. She braces herself on one of the support beams of the hut. She glances back at him and tugs on his hair (which is the longest it’s ever been) and pulls him closer to her. They are almost breathing the same air at this point. 

“I know you want to touch them. I want you to touch them.”

He swallows hard, but his hands move toward her.

“The marks. I’m speaking of my marks,” she clarifies.

“I know what you meant,” he responds with a gravelly tone to his voice.

He’s tentative at first, but he starts at the top of her shoulder, where the wolf’s teeth jut out. He guides his hand down her back, tracing the outline of the wolf tattoo. The wolf’s tail ends right before he gets to her ass. As he approaches the tail, he can feel her shiver under his touch. Her breathing is heavy now, and she arches her back slightly during his exploration. He moves his finger from the wolf to one of the knots and patterns that surround it. She closes her eyes and leans back against him. He moves his hands down her hips to her thighs and traces the patterns that have been drawn for him in indigo ink. 

He places a kiss to the wolf’s head. She makes a purr-like sound when he does this, so he continues kissing down her entire back. As he gets to the small of her back, he changes direction and licks his way back up. She moans this time and he is out of his mind already. She tilts her head and glances back at him.

“Why are your clothes still on?” she asks, as she raises her eyebrow.

He stares momentarily, before he practically rips the shirt over his head. He pulls the tie to his trousers and lets them drop to the floor. He steps his feet out of the pant legs, then tugs at her arm to turn her. She stays put, feet firmly planted to the floor. 

“No. Like this,” she insists.

He wants to see her face while he makes love to her. It’s been so long, he needs to see her face. Yet, there is also a part of him that is driven wild by the idea of fucking her from behind like this.

He caves to his wildest desires. He grabs her hips and slides into her. The moan that escapes her lips stirs his blood. His hands move up to massage her breasts as he kisses, licks and bites the nape of her neck. He decides to complement her tattoos with a few marks of his own along her neckline. It is carnal bliss being with her like this. She is wet and wild and he is losing control. He could easily howl like the wolf on her back at the feeling of her around him. It is primitive and feral, two warriors engaging in an epic war of wantonness.

She finishes just before he does. He slips out of her and she turns and kisses him deeply. He bends slightly and picks her up by her thighs. She wraps her legs around his waist and he carries her to the bed. This time, he gets to view her face and kiss her as much as he wants.

__

**_Two Months Later_ **

He returns from a hunt with a few other men to find her sitting outside their hut. She is bent forward and her right arm is completely exposed, her dress sleeve hanging down limp. He sees a man with her, his hand splayed across her back, holding her in place. He grows concerned and moves closer to them. Then he sees that the man is tattooing her skin. Relief washes over him, and he chuckles internally that he will have a new pattern to map out with his mouth later.

As he turns to face her, she smiles widely at him, with the slightest hint of a seductive smirk. She is starting to be able to read his filthy little mind too easily. He glances down at her shoulder, the tattoo in the finishing stage at this point. Instead of her other tattoos which are clearly northern in origin, she has chosen a design of his people. It covers her entire shoulder and arm down to her elbow. There are two water horses entwined together and a triquetra design between the two tails. She explains she wanted something to represent her time with him, her time here with his people. She also mentions that he should get one himself. He has a few small ones, but nothing as elaborate as her own markings.

He agrees to get something of her people to also commemorate their union. He removes his shirt and points to the section of his chest directly above his heart. She plants a kiss to the area and then backs up out of the way. He allows her to select a northern design of her choosing. She directs the tattoo artist and advises him what to do. It is a simple runic band that references change, success, joy and love. He doesn’t care. She can put whatever she wants on his body. 

He does indeed enjoy the new tattoo once her skin has healed completely. She is no less desirous in this life as any other and his appetite for her never wanes. It is as constant as the North Star.

She is also not as wild as he originally thought. She’s just a different kind of fierce. Yet, she is no less insatiable. 

A few mornings after their tattooing, she wakes him by trailing kisses down his chest. He has never had any problem getting hard for her, and now is no exception. He feels utterly whole and complete when he’s inside her. 

She straddles him and lowers herself onto his cock. His breath hitches when she takes him fully inside her. She has that wild glint in her eye and he knows he needs to allow her to take charge. She rides him like she’s trying to break a wild stallion. He is holding on by a thread and when she screams his name he can bear it no longer. He comes inside her, but continues to buck up into her until she follows him a few moments later. 

She falls forward onto him and he holds her in his arms. She professes her love for him in that instant. Sure, she has been fucking him for the last few months, but she has never told him how she feels until now. He of course, has been in love with her from the beginning of time itself. She talks of having a child with him and he would love nothing more. It is all he has ever wanted; to have a family and a life with her. 

__

**_Eight Months Later_ **

He is part of a scouting party, sent to stealthily patrol the borders. They are the first warning bell in case trouble comes calling. Lately, more and more Saxons are arriving at the island’s shores and are swelling the ranks of their people. They have begun raiding in the north and his people must remain vigilant.

Somehow, the Saxons were able to sneak by the spies on shore during the night. Instead of coming by land, they sail up the river and launch surprise raids up and down the coast. He finds out way too late.

He rushes towards the village, only to be met by his worst fears. The Saxons are raiding. Many of the men are either out scouting or hunting, which leaves a good portion of the women and children vulnerable. Their scouting party has enough men to begin a counterattack, though. They fight their way through the village. His thoughts are of nothing but her: Lelya, his shieldmaiden of the north.

He rounds a corner and sees her. Sword and shield in hand, she defends a group of women and young children behind her. A young Saxon warrior charges at her and she mows him down with her blade in one fell swoop. She fends off another attacker just before he reaches her.

She sees him and turns to the side, knowing instinctively he will protect the other. They battle side by side until they are finally victorious. He drops his sword and touches her shoulders, as he inspects her for injuries.

“I’m unharmed,” she confirms.

“Thank the gods.”

He kisses her passionately, as tears form in his eyes. The thought of harm coming to her chills him to the bone. In every one of his past lives with her, he has been the one to meet his end, not her. He wants more than anything to protect her, but he knows there are no guarantees in any life. She could just as easily come down with illness in three days. All he can do is love her and do his best to protect her. 

His worry increases tenfold over the next few months, as more and more Saxons raid into the north. War is inevitable at this point. If the tribes do not ban together, they will be overrun one by one, until their people are gone. 

Lelya is not a naïve woman by any means. She understands the odds they face. He could try to tell her not to fight, but he knows she will not listen. She is a warrior at heart; fierce and brutal in her own right. He knows she would prefer to die in battle than be beaten and raped by the Saxons. He just would prefer that neither ever happens.

A week later, they receive word that a massive Saxon army has gathered at the southern border of their lands. War is upon them, whether they would have it or not. 

“I suppose there is no way I can convince you not to fight, is there?” he asks hesitantly.

“Of course not. Why would I not fight? This is as much my home as it is yours, is it not?”

He nods, knowing she is right as always.

__

They gather with the tribes’ warriors at the makeshift camp. They arm themselves to the hilt, complete with sword, axe, dagger and shield. They gather with many of the other warriors for the last bit of their preparation: the war paint. He dips two fingers into the bowl, emerging with the indigo paste dripping from them. 

He draws circular patterns on her forehead, and then smears two straight lines across her cheekbones. She is both beautiful and terrifying all at once. She dips her fingers into the bowl and repeats the process on him. 

The Saxons outnumber them, but they still maintain an advantage. They know their land better. Terrain can easily be used as a tactical advantage for a smaller force. 

They split their force in two. The second force consists of mostly archers, and they rush through the forest ahead of the battle to take their positions. The war paint serves a dual purpose. It not only instills fear in the enemy, but it also serves as a natural camouflage, allowing the warriors to blend into their surroundings. They accompany the first group to the main battlefield. Their job is to engage the enemy, until the archers can flank them and rain hell upon them. It’s a simple enough plan, if the Saxons cooperate. Yet, simple does not equate to death free. 

They grip each other firmly, as they stare into each other’s eyes one last time before the battle begins. 

“My love, if the gods decide that I die today, but spare your life, know that I will not enter Valhalla or Fólkvangr. I will wander the afterlife, waiting for you,” she says, as she kisses him.

“I am not sure that Odin or Freyja will give you an option, my love. But I would do the same for you.”

 _If it were anyway possible_.

“If we both shall fall, know that I am glad that I will die next to you,” she declares.

He knows if he falls, he will wake up in another life and his search for her will begin all over again.

She removes the silver hammer charm from her belt and hands it to him.

“I want you to have this. I want my gods to protect you as well.”

He takes it from her, not because he wants to, but because there is no use in fighting her right now. 

His people’s fighting techniques are not so different than the Northmen, so Lelya is able to pick things up quickly. They form a shield wall, as they stare at their enemies across the battlefield. The Saxons charge at them, but the wall holds, for now. They break the wall periodically to counterattack the Saxons with spears and swords. 

Eventually, the wall breaks down and they are now in hand to hand combat. He turns to his left, sensing he should, as a Saxon swings at his head. They clash for a few seconds before he plunges his sword into the Saxon’s chest. 

When he turns back to his right, she is no longer by his side. He quickly scans the battlefield in search of her, as he repels attack after attack. He spies her in the distance, as she cuts down a large, Saxon man twice her size. He is frantic to get to her, to fight and die by her side. 

He is close enough to see her, but not close enough to stop what happens next. He watches in horror as the blade slices across her back. She whirls around and is able to repel the second blow with her sword, before it falls from her hands. She grabs her axe from her belt and continues the fight, even though her wound is impeding her. She lands a blow of her axe to the Saxon’s elbow, and he drops his sword in return.

He is almost there now, just a few more enemies to cut down along the way first. The Saxon she is fighting is now defenseless, save his shield. He uses it as a battering ram to her face and she falls flat on her back as she gasps for breath. The Saxon bends down and picks up his sword and plunges it through her chest.

He cannot see anything else through the chaos and blood, save this one Saxon soldier who has just killed the love of his life. He lunges at the man, knocking him to the ground. He proceeds to beat him repeatedly in the face with his own shield, until there is nothing left but a bloody pulp. 

He crawls over to her body and holds her in his arms, as the battle rages around him. He does not even defend himself. He will die with her, right here, right now. He feels the cold iron as it’s jammed into his back, and he falls forward, his body shielding hers. His last thought is of her before everything goes black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Old Norse Translations (I did the best I could with these, so if there's a mistake, I apologize).
> 
> Er em ek=Where am I?
> 
> Hvat ir ykkarr nafn=what is your name?
> 
> Lelya, dóttir Jarl Leif= Lelya, daughter of Earl Leif
> 
> Hvat verđa=What happened?
> 
> Veđr=storm/weather
> 
> Meiri koma=More come?
> 
> Likligr=Likely


	8. France

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flynn struggles to choose between his faith and his love for Lucy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning in this chapter for adultery (technically speaking, but it's a marriage of necessity/convenience), breaking of sacred vows and violent death sequence.

**_France (1307 A.D.)_ **

His only instructions are to ensure the pilgrims make it safely from Paris to La Couvertoirade. Once they arrive at the Templar stronghold in the south of France, another one of his brothers will be responsible for the rest of their journey to the Holy Land. 

The walled village comes into view and he breathes a sigh of relief. Its massive towers shine like beacons in the sunlight, the red-tiled roofs of the buildings within the walls casting a ruby-red glow at the surrounding countryside.

They enter the gates and he hands off control of his pilgrim charges and enters the temple. After prayer, he sits with a fellow brother and they share their bowl of stew in the traditional fashion. He fills his belly and then tries to rest for the evening in the room he takes when he’s here. 

Unfortunately, the Grand Master of La Couvertoirade interrupts his plans for the evening when he summons him.

“Brother Leflinne, I have a task for you on your return journey to Paris.”

“Yes, Grand Master.”

“You will escort four pilgrims back to Paris. One of them is of great import to his Holiness. Unfortunately, the man is gravely injured and I trust you to ensure his safe return. You will leave at first light.”

“Yes, Grand Master,” he replies.

He retires back to his quarters and doesn’t give this task another thought until morning. He would be able to make better time if it was just himself travelling back to Paris, but if this is what His Holiness and the Grand Master require of him, he will do it with pride. After all, it’s the reason he joined the Knights Templar to begin with. He’s a warrior. He always has been and he fears he always will be. This allows him to put those skills to good use. He protects those that cannot do it for themselves. He has purpose here.

Of course, joining the temple also means believing in a new god; a Christian God. The whole life after death part speaks to him in ways it _cannot_ to others. He knows for a fact there is life after death, but not in the way the Christians speak of, at least, not for him.

He readies his horse the next morning and waits for the pilgrims he will be escorting back to Paris. To his complete shock, a carriage rolls into the courtyard, along with two additional men on horseback. He usually takes pilgrims riding on horseback, not carriages. This is going to take twice as long and be twice as dangerous then it should be. A carriage attracts _way too much_ attention.

He strolls toward the carriage to introduce himself when the door opens and a man half stumbles out. The man braces himself and then reaches up and helps another passenger down into the courtyard. It’s a woman. _This just keeps getting worse by the second._

She removes the hood of her cloak and he stops dead in his tracks. _You have got to be kidding me._ It has been four hundred and forty-one years, but he will never forget that beautiful face. The man she is with introduces himself as Guillaume de Nogaret, one of King Philip’s ministers. 

“Garson Leflinne. I will be escorting you back to Paris,” he informs them. 

He can see her out of the corner of his eye. He aches to look upon her beautiful face, but if he is caught, the penance he will have to bear will be great.

“My sister, Lady Liliola Prieton,” de Nogaret states as he points toward her.

“My lady,” he states as he bows.

After the introductions to the other two men accompanying them, the party departs La Couvertoirade. They travel along the road until they reach Sainte-Eulalie-de-Cernon. Once they make it there, de Nogaret is taken for medical treatment and Lady Prieton seeks him out after supper. 

The overwhelming urge to take her into his arms is consuming him and if he doesn’t want to be expelled from the order, he needs to keep his distance from her. Keeping away from her is impossible for him though, as his soul reaches and stretches out for its mate. 

“Bonsoir, Monsieur Leflinne,” she states as she strolls up next to him.

“Bonsoir, Lady Prieton.”

“Call me Lili,” she replies with a wave of her hand.

“I cannot, my lady. It would not be proper. It’s not proper that I converse with you either.”

“If you do not converse with me, I will complain to my brother who has the ear of the king. Surely, you enjoy being a Templar, oui?”

He is thrown for a loop to say the least. She’s been aggressive in other lives, but this isn’t outright aggressive behavior. There is a subtle undertone to her threat, though a threat it clearly is. 

“Oui, Madame,” he answers.

In reality, he wants to be as close to her as possible, but he can feel the eyes of his Templar brethren on him.

“Have we met before Monsieur? You have an air of familiarity about you that I cannot seem to place,” she questions.

He shakes his head indicating they have not.

“No, I am sure I would remember a man as handsome as yourself,” she declares.

His heart is hammering in his chest as she calls him handsome.

“Well, you’re not much for conversation, but at least you’re pleasurable to gaze at,” she states as she eyes him up and down.

“My lady…”

“These journeys can become so boring if the scenery is not stimulating. Don’t you agree?” she questions as she locks eyes with him.

Her comments are innocuous enough that any of his brothers passing by would think nothing of it, but the sexual innuendos are as plain as day to him. 

“I’m not much concerned about the scenery Madame. I’m more concerned about potential threats,” he answers honestly.

“Have you seen many battles?” she asks with a childlike curiosity.

The question, as well as her enthusiasm, takes him back to Atlantis. It’s further proof that his Lucy is inside this woman somewhere. 

“I’ve seen enough of them.”

“Any famous ones I may know of?” she inquires.

“I doubt a lady such as yourself is familiar with military battles,” he replies.

She genuinely appears to be offended by his comment. She narrows her eyes and closes the gap between them.

“Humor me, Monsieur.”

“Acre,” he replies.

“You were at the fall of Acre?”

“You know about that?” he asks in surprise.

“I know a great deal, Monsieur, most of which I’m sure would either shock or surprise you.”

She is so whip smart. He cannot help but smirk back at her.

“Perhaps we can discuss this when we’re on the road, where there are less prying eyes, Madame?”

She nods her head and bids him adieu. 

His head is filled with visions of her beauty the entire night. He needs to get his rest for the long journey ahead, but he is beyond excited that he’s found her again. The problem of him being a celibate, warrior-priest is an issue he’ll have to tackle another day.

The next morning is uneventful as the party rides from Sainte-Eulalie-de-Cernon. It will take them at least three days to make it to the next Templar stronghold of Sergeac. His intention is to ride all day and hopefully make it to Rodez by nightfall. At least they should be able to find lodging accommodations there. If they were all on horseback and healthy, they would be able to make it past Rodez most likely, but with the carriage slowing them down, it’s just not a possibility.

They stop on the road at midday to water the horses at a nearby stream. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, as he holds the bucket to the horse’s mouth. Being near her and not being able to really talk or touch her is going to kill him. When he opens his eyes again, he senses someone near him. He glances back and notices she’s walking toward him. He also recognizes the fact that she’s eying him up and down as she approaches. 

She breaks off a piece of bread from the loaf in her hand and offers it to him. He’s hungry, he can’t deny that, but being that close to her is both thrilling and terrifying. He reaches out tentatively, and their fingers brush lightly as he grabs the piece of bread. He half-believes she did it on purpose, though she’s quite the master at wearing a mask to hide her true intentions. It didn’t take him long to deduce that about her. He does have an unfair advantage, but he’ll take any he can get. 

She doesn’t say anything to him, just keeps watching him as he devours the piece of bread and dips the bucket back into the stream. He removes his mail hood, dips his hands into the bucket and pours the water over his head. The summer heat and the weight of his hauberk is a grueling combination at the moment and he needs to be mindful of what his body is telling him. 

“I think you may be the only one here who understands what women like me go through every day,” she calls out suddenly.

He shakes the remaining droplets of water from his hair, smooths it back out of his eyes and turns to look in her general direction. He doesn’t dare look directly at her, he’s not sure he would be able to hide his feelings if he did. 

“I’m sorry, Madame?”

“For the last time Monsieur, call me Lili,” she scolds him in a teasing tone.

“I cannot. It would not be proper,” he answers with a shake of his head.

“Have I given you the impression that I care about what is or is not proper?” she asks as she moves closer to him.

“I have not thought about you in any other respect except my concern for your safety, Madame.”

“You’re no fun,” she quips, as she turns on her heel and struts back to the horses.

_This is going to be the longest trip of his life._

They move slowly for the rest of the afternoon due to the summer’s sweltering heat and arrive in Rodez as night is falling. They’re able to secure lodgings for the evening and Lady Prieton and de Nogaret decide they will take their supper in their room. The other two men accompanying them join him downstairs for a hearty supper of sausage and ale. Their conversation is sparse as they are quite famished. 

Towards the end of their meal, they hear a ruckus coming from the second floor of the inn. Lili storms down the stairs and directly up to the innkeeper, with her brother hobbling after her. She’s demanding another room, because apparently her brother’s wound stinks and a lady of her stature _will not_ be subjected to such grotesque conditions. He chuckles slightly at this display of anger pouring out of such a tiny woman.

“Liliola, you cannot stay by yourself here. You will stay with me and that is the end of it!” de Nogaret yells.

“I will not! Those two can stay with you and the priest can stay in my room and protect me,” she counters.

He chokes on his ale when she says it. Obviously, she has no way of knowing what a struggle it is for him to be in her presence.

“Are you mad? You don’t even know this man,” de Nogaret exclaims.

“Who better to watch over me than a celibate priest, huh?”

She has a point there and even her weasel brother fails to find a counterargument. After convincing her brother finally, the party trudges up the stairs and into their rooms for the evening. He removes his mail hood and hauberk, but remains otherwise clothed. He places the chair in the room facing the door and slumps down into it. He can feel her eyes on him as he slouches and squirms to find a more comfortable position. He takes a deep breath and stares down at the red cross on his chest. He cannot betray the order and his vows, but he would for her. Unfortunately, she is a married woman and he will not seduce her into committing adultery. He could endure the penalty for such behavior and still survive, but the punishment for a woman… He cannot inflict that upon her.

She tries to gain his attention multiple times, but he ignores her.

“Go to sleep, Madame.”

Eventually, she begrudgingly does just that. 

The next day she surprises him by announcing that she will be riding on horseback today. He raises an eyebrow, but does not argue with her. Once they’ve been on the road for a while, she sidles up to him.

“You don’t say much, do you, Monsieur Leflinne?”

“What do you want me to say, Madame?”

“What made you join the Templars?” she questions.

“No offense, Madame, but I don’t see how that’s any of your concern.”

He’s not trying to be rude, but the conflict within him is tearing him apart. This is a dangerous stretch of road known for robbers and he needs to remain alert, but the fact that she’s showing an interest in him is causing his heart to swell.

“This ride is tedious at best. I want to know more about the man escorting me home, the man I dreamt of last evening,” she states in an almost whisper.

“Wha-what?” he asks as his head whips around to face her.

“I dreamt of you last night. It was quite strange. We were dressed in strange clothing in some sort of tavern drinking from thin, glass bottles. Definitely not wine. The dress I wore was a wine color though…”

He’s staring at her as if she has gone completely mad. He does not recall this scenario one bit. _Could she be glimpsing something in their future? Do they even have a future together?_

“I was certainly not happy with you in this dream, yet you seemed to be enjoying that fact for some reason,” she adds.

“Madame, I assure you that I will try my best not to upset you,” he promises.

She continues to describe the encounter from her dream as they ride along. Eventually, he opens up a little bit more and tells her about the fall of Acre. They also fall into a heated debate about whether the French or the Saracens are better mathematicians. This debate continues on until they reach the town of Figeac. 

The same sleeping arrangements occur that evening. He is about to take his position in another uncomfortable chair, when he feels a hand on his shoulder. He closes his eyes momentarily and revels in her touch. When he turns, she is only in her chemise, which hides absolutely nothing. His eyes go wide as they scan her curves and he licks his bottom lip unintentionally.

“I know you cannot lie with me,” she whispers as she steps in between his legs. “ _However_ , if I understand your Templar vows correctly, there is technically no prohibition against aiding _my_ pleasure.”

It’s as if he’s in a trance. He cannot speak, cannot move, cannot breathe. She takes his hand and presses his palm between her legs.

“I want you to touch me,” she commands in a seductive tone.

“I-I…”

“You can and you will and we will never speak of it again.”

His brain is not functioning, but his hand is already under the hem of her chemise and skimming up her inner thigh. She calls to him like a siren. He made be semi-immortal, but he is still a man. She climbs into his lap as his fingers find her entrance. The candlelight flickers across her face like sparkling jewels, as she throws her head back with a breathy sigh. There is no use in fighting, he knows he will not win. His desire for her surpasses everything else as he works her insides with curling thrusts. She ruts her hips against his fingers as he increases his pace. She bites her lip to keep herself quiet. He desperately wants to kiss her, but she has not given him expressed permission to do so. Her loophole into the Templar’s rules is genius and if this is the only way he can be with her, he will take it. Her breathing starts to become shallower and his thumb begins to rub small circles around her clit. She slaps her hand across her mouth as she reaches climax a moment later. He withdraws his fingers and she pulls back from him. She leans down towards him as she passes by and whispers in his ear.

“Merci, Monsieur.”

She climbs back into the bed and falls sound asleep a minute later. Meanwhile, he’s still stuck frozen in the chair. His hand is still tingling from when he was touching her. _What did he just do?_

__

They reach Sergeac the next day and he has never been more thankful to be in the company of his brothers. He feels as if he is dripping with sin and the guilt of it all is weighing heavily on him. Perhaps if she wasn’t married and there was some potential for a future, it might not conflict him so.

He keeps his distance the next morning as they leave Sergeac. It will be another three days until they reach Poitiers. It is the ultimate test of temptation and he’s not sure he will be able to maintain his composure. 

At the end of the second day, they arrive in Angoulême. This room actually has two beds, so he waits until she falls asleep before crawling into his. He is just barely conscious when he hears movement coming from her side of the room. Assuming she’s just turning over, he ignores it and closes his eyes. 

A moment later, she is on top of him pulling her shift up and over her head. It’s the second time she’s ambushed him in the chamber. He knows this iteration of her is very intelligent and she keeps inventing new loopholes to skirt the rules and vows he has taken. 

“Lili?”

“Shh, remember, no prohibition against my pleasure.”

She drags her naked body against his clothed one and he knows right then he will not be able to deny her. _Technically_ , he isn’t getting anything out of this arrangement, only she is, even if it _does_ give him pleasure to pleasure her. _Where’s the harm in that?_

His gives in to his instincts and flips her onto her back. Before he knows it, his tongue is inside of her, lapping at her altar like the most pious worshipper. She is yanking on his hair and grinding against his mouth in rhythm. 

“Mon dieu!” she cries out.

This only encourages him as he loses touch with reality, allowing the various lifetimes of experience with her to guide and propel him forward. He’s pretty sure she’ll be the death of him once again, but he doesn’t care. There is no limit to what he would do to be with her. 

He moves his tongue to her clit as he slips two fingers inside. She is so wet for him, he can’t stop the inevitable erection he is now sporting. He feasts on her ambrosia and honey and leaves her utterly wrecked once he’s finished. He wishes he could’ve taken a little bit more time to worship her properly, but they had to be quick. If someone heard them…

She’s still on her back, panting and gasping for air, so he gets up and moves to what was previously her bed. The room fills with silence, except for their breathing, and his other problem has now become more of an urgency. He can’t exactly jerk off right here, but he needs to release this pent up frustration. He can’t leave the room either, because the whole point of him being here is to guard her. _He is never making it back to Paris alive._

__

He wakes early the next morning and waits outside the chamber door for her to join him. Today, she rides in the carriage and he finds he’s actually missing her incessant chatter. At first, her constant questions were an annoyance, but he began to enjoy their conversations as the days went by. 

When they reach Poitiers, de Nogaret’s station as the king’s minister affords them more luxurious accommodations for the evening. He does not need to guard her while they stay at de Nogaret’s acquaintance’s estate, nor does he expect for her to seek out his company while she is here. The lady of the manor has been occupying most of Lili’s time since they arrived, so he decides to try and wash away some of the guilt and dirt, if not from his soul, but from at least his skin. 

His host has offered the use of his baths and he takes the opportunity to scrub himself from head to toe. He dips his head backwards and into the water, the droplets trickling down his hair to his bare back. The warm water soothes his aching muscles and allows him to finally start to relax and unwind. His mind drifts into a daydream and pleasant memories and fantasies about Lucy. His hand absentmindedly wanders down his body and grabs a hold of his cock. He’s so pent up right now just thinking about making love to her gets him hard. He pumps himself over and over until he’s just on the edge.

Suddenly, his memories of horseback riding with her through a dewy meadow turn to a dark, dirty alleyway. Her face has been beaten and she is crying as he holds her in his arms. The clothing is nothing like he’s ever seen before, or even imagined before. _Is this another vision of the future?_

His eyes flash open, snapping himself back to reality. It’s hard to focus initially, but once he does, he realizes that he is no longer alone. She enters the bath slowly, the steam rising around her in billowy clouds. She dips down into the water, then stands up enough that her breasts are exposed to him.

“Don’t stop on my account,” she teases. “In fact, it will give me something to think about,” she adds as she slips her hand between her legs. 

His eyes go wide and his mouth drops open as she begins to pleasure herself in front of him. It’s incredibly sexy and he’s already beyond the point of no return. He grabs his cock again and goes back to pumping himself, but this time he concentrates on the naked beauty in front of him. He doesn’t last long after that, but he continues stroking himself until she climaxes as well. 

He needs to get out of the bath before someone sees them, but he cannot take his eyes off of her. She does not appear to be in any sort of hurry to leave either. He sinks below the water for a moment in an attempt to gain some semblance of composure. When he breaks the surface again, he shakes the excess water from his head and runs his hands along his beard. To his shock, she is moving closer and closer to him as she wades through the water. 

He panics and quickly jumps out of the bath, grabbing his clothes along the way to the doorway. He glances back for a split second and finds her in the spot he had just been occupying. She licks her lips as her eyes wander up and down his naked body. He hears noise coming from the opposite direction and ducks into a storeroom. He throws his clothing back on and waits a few minutes before slipping back out into the early evening air.

__

The next morning, before they depart, de Nogaret summons him to his chamber. As soon as he steps inside, his olfactory senses are affronted by the stench of death. Minister de Nogaret informs him that his wound is infected and their host has sent for a doctor. He is going to stay here in Poitiers and tend to his wound and his men will stay with him and escort him back to Paris once he is better able to travel.

“Unfortunately, my sister _insists_ she be escorted back to Paris immediately,” de Nogaret states with a roll of his eyes.

“Is that wise, my lord?”

“Nothing my sister does is very wise, Monsieur Leflinne, but I can never deny her. If you can, be my guest, but…”

“You wish that I escort her home?” he asks.

“I know this is not a usual request. Believe me, Monsieur, my sympathies are with you. Listening to her incessant chattering on the road has become quite tedious,” de Nogaret complains.

He has no way out of this. He can’t deny the Minister’s order any more than he can deny her. It is shear torture for him and his resolve is waning.

Nevertheless, the two of them set out in the late morning sun on horseback, the carriage being left behind for de Nogaret’s return. At least they will be able to travel at a quicker pace without it. He’s not sure if that’s a blessing or a curse. 

His plan is to travel to Tours and spend the night there, but a sudden summer storm squashes that idea. Their clothes are soaked through by the time they reach the nearest town of Sainte-Maure-de-Touraine. She slows her horse to a trot and he does the same.

“Are you alright, Madame?”

“Lili. For the last time, I _insist_ you call me by my given name, Monsieur Leflinne,” she scowls.

“Fine,” he huffs. “Are you alright, Lili?”

“Not particularly. I would like to be under a roof next to a warm fire, but in order to do that, you need to remove your tabard. If we enter the town with you in all your Templar glory, it will attract attention,” she explains.

He knows he shouldn’t do it, but his will to fight her is almost completely gone. He shrugs the tabard over his head, folds it up and places it into his saddle bag. 

“Maybe you could lose the mail hood and the mail too,” she suggests.

He glares back at her. He is _not_ , under any circumstances, riding into a strange town without his armor. 

“Okay, I guess this will have to do then,” she replies.

They follow the path that leads into the town and stable their horses. The ground is muddy and slippery from the rain and she grabs onto his arm for support. They trudge through the town and take a room at the inn. 

After they have supped and warmed by the fire for a while, a silence fills their room. Both are sneaking glances when they think the other is not looking. He is tired from their travels, cold from the soaking rain, yet he cannot force himself to climb into the bed. This is a new experience for him. He’s never been afraid to be with her before, but that is exactly what he feels now. What if this is a test? Does he need to deny the love of his life, his heart, his soulmate, in order to break this curse? 

He senses her inching closer to him. He holds his breath, as she places her hands on his shoulders from behind.

“Garson,” she whispers into his ear.

He closes his eyes and tries his best to ignore her. Her hand cups his chin, as she turns his head to look at her.

“Do you not find me desirable?”

“I-I…”

“I find you _very_ desirable. I have tried in vain to ignore it, but I can bear it no longer. I want you to make love to me,” she states seductively.

“Lili, I cannot. You are married and I am a Templar,” he answers.

“My husband has not touched me in years,” she states with an audible frustration. 

“That cannot be. No man could…”

“It is so! My husband, he-he prefers the company of…men.”

“Oh, I’m-I’m sorry?”

“It is fine for the most part, but I would like to feel like a woman from time to time. You…make me feel like a woman,” she whispers, as she runs her hands through his beard.

He stares back into her eyes, unable to utter a single word. She leans in and grazes her lips across his. She pulls back and inspects his facial expression with great interest. 

“Still no?” she questions, as she lets her hands run up and down his chest.

If this is a test, he is failing miserably right now. She steps back from him and turns to go towards the bed, when he reaches out and grabs her wrist. He pulls her back to him as he stands. 

“Why must you tempt me so?” he asks, as he runs his hands through her hair.

“Because I have fallen in love with you, Monsieur Leflinne. And, unless you have been gifted with unusual sexual prowess, I believe you have feelings for me as well. No man touches a woman the way you have touched me if you don’t.”

He cups her face with his right hand, as his left draws her flush against him. He crowds her up against the wall, as he runs his hands up and down her curves. Suddenly, his resolve crumbles and he crashes his mouth onto hers, kissing her hard. He grabs her thighs and hoists her upwards. She wraps her legs around his waist in response, as he trails kisses down her neck. Her hands wander down to the hem of his tunic and she tugs in an upward motion. He uses his hips to hold her in place while he shrugs the offending garment up and over his head. 

“Take your trousers off as well,” she whispers. “I want to feel you inside of me tonight,” she adds as she bucks her hips into him. 

The guttural growl that escapes his lips would scare a hellhound. He gently lowers her to the ground and unties his trousers. She in turn, shrugs her shift over her head, letting it drop to the floor where she stands. She braces herself against the wall, as he kisses her again and again, deeply, slowly, possessively, as if he feels a compulsion to kiss her in every single, solitary way he knows how. He picks her back up again by her thighs and spreads her legs in order to align himself with her entrance. He glances back up at her one last time, but there is no doubt about what she wants. She grips his shoulders and digs her nails in and he wastes no time and plunges deep inside her. She lets out an excited cry.

“Did I hurt you?” he asks with concern.

“No. Keep going,” she whispers.

He pounds into her again and she gasps and throw her head back. 

“Oui, oui, oui!” she screams, as she digs her heels into his ass.

Her sighs and screams encourage him on and in no time flat they are both climaxing. They collapse into each other, gasping for breath, but not able to disentangle themselves quite yet. He carries her to the bed and gently lays her down before crawling in himself. She curls into his body, sweat still sheening down the two of them, as they kiss and cuddle until sleep claims them.

__

They make love again in the early morning light, this time slow and tender. Neither one of them want to leave, but if they don’t make it to Arville and send word to her brother soon, a search for them will inevitably be undertaken.

They ride hard that day, passing Tours and deciding to stay the night in Blois. They should be at Orléans by now, but the storm set them back a day. Again they pose as husband and wife to secure a room at the inn and continue to consummate their relationship as if they are. 

The trip proceeds along in much the same fashion, the two of them ravaging each other every single evening. As they leave Orléans that morning, however, reality seeps back into his brain. They will arrive in Arville this evening and he has no idea how he will look any of his brothers in the eye after he continues to break the vows he once held sacred. 

She must sense something is off with him, because when they stop to water the horses around midday, she takes him by the hand and leads him up to an apple orchard. She plucks an apple from the tree and drapes her arm over a low-lying branch as she takes a seductive bite.

“It’s hot,” she complains, as she takes a seat on the grass under the tree.

He nods his head in acknowledgement, although he guarantees she’s not as hot as he is with all this armor on. Suddenly, she takes another bite of her apple and slowly inches her dress up, exposing her ankle and then her thigh. The symbolism laid bare before him is not lost on him. The seductive temptress with an apple in hand would most likely lead many of his brothers down the path of sin, but he is already miles down to the road slowly marching to hell. He cannot stop himself. The next thing he knows, their clothes go flying into the air and he is fucking her under the apple tree. 

“I will not let you go,” she whispers in his ear. “You. Are. _Mine_ ,” she states, as she kisses him possessively.

“Je t’aime,” he whispers against her mouth.

“Let’s run away together,” she suggests as they begin to redress under the shade of the tree.

“They’ll hunt us down and you know it. As much as I would like to…”

“We’ll find a way. We have to,” she pleads.

__

When they finally arrive back in Paris, both of them are so deeply in love with the other, they know they cannot stop. They _will_ not stop. For the remainder of the summer, they sneak off and meet as often as they can, even if it’s just for an hour or two. He knows they could be caught at any time, and he worries about what will happen to her.

In mid-September, her husband passes away and she uses her “grief” as an excuse to disappear for hours at a time. It is during one of her “grief” rendezvous with him that she finally convinces him to leave the Templar Order and marry her. She has accumulated enough of her husband’s wealth for them to live comfortably. She agrees to flee France and makes arrangements for the two of them to sail to Scotland, where her cousin has agreed to shelter them. It’s October now, so they need to leave soon before the weather takes a turn for the worse and prevents them from crossing the English Channel. 

He informs her that as soon as His Holiness, Pope Clement V, returns to Avignon, he will be able to slip out of the Commandery unnoticed. Until then, he goes about his normal duties, counting the days and hours until he can finally be with his beloved. 

He receives word that she needs to see him urgently. He makes his way to the market and the two of them steal away to a side alley.

“What is it my love?” he questions as he looks her over.

“My brother has returned. It will be harder to get away if we do not leave soon,” she explains in a panic.

“We can leave Saturday night. Sunday morning is always busy. My presence will go unnoticed until supper, I imagine.”

“Saturday it is then,” she answers him as she grips his hands in hers.

He lifts her hands and kisses her knuckles before blending back into the market crowd. 

The next few days are torturous and he begins to count down the hours with a renewed anticipation. Unfortunately, he doesn’t get the chance to find out. At dawn on Friday, the thirteenth of October, King Philip’s men round up and arrest the entire Knights Templar order on charges of heresy. He is taken to the tower at Chinon, along with the rest of his brothers, where they endure torture. Many of them make false confessions of heresy and other sacrilegious offenses, but he refuses. He probably is the only one of them who actually _is_ guilty, but he will not confess. He will not endanger her or have her labeled as an adulteress. After another particularly brutal beating, he is led out to a courtyard with the rest of his brothers and bound to the stake. He’s suffered death before, but this is the most agonizing pain he has ever experienced. He just prays he doesn’t have to wait long in the next life to find her again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, this is the historical account of what happened to many of the Templars. Some did escape to Scotland and Portugal, though. It's also the root of why Friday the 13th is considered unlucky.
> 
> Definitions:  
> hauberk=a piece of armor originally covering only the neck and shoulders, later consisting of a full-length coat of mail or military tunic.; shirt of mail, reaching to at least mid-thigh and including sleeves.
> 
> tabard=a coarse, sleeveless garment worn as the outer dress of medieval peasants and clerics, or worn as a surcoat over armor.
> 
> French translations:  
> Bonsoir=good evening  
> Oui=yes  
> Monsieur=mister  
> Merci=thank you  
> Mon dieu=my God  
> Je t'aime=I love you.


	9. Nassau

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flynn discovers the New World continues to be haunted by the ghosts of the old.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're getting closer to modern times! Still a couple to go first, though. This is another one of my favorites, so I hope you enjoy. Comments are golden and kudos are appreciated.

**_Nassau, Bahamas (1718 A.D.)_ **

He loves the sea. It reminds him of home, of his life before this parade of lives began so long ago. The sea provides him with a sense of tranquility and an untethered freedom. This is precisely why he hates it when he has to come into port. Nassau has its own perils, but at least he has a place to escape the noise even when he’s here. 

His boots hit the sand and he makes his way up and into the town proper. His quartermaster, Karl, is directly behind him, yammering on about something. He doesn’t really care right now. Right now, all he wants is a hot meal and bath. He has a place of his own on the other side of the island, but no one knows about it and he prefers to keep it that way. He has a reputation to uphold, so he stays in a room at the brothel while he’s in town.

His patronage of the brothel has led to him becoming a legitimate silent partner in the enterprise. Having a legitimate business to fall back on should he ever be charged with piracy, serves more purpose than just a safety net. It comes with its own set of perks. The woman who runs it, Emmaline Whitley, is ruthless in business, which he finds utterly refreshing. He’d much rather like to remain on her good side, so he makes sure his men don’t cause too much of a scene in the establishment.

He enters the brothel, Karl still flanking his side, and struts his way to the bar. The first floor of the establishment is the tavern and the upper floors the brothel proper. He reaches the bar and the bartender slides an entire bottle of rum down to him. He nods his head in thanks and leaves more than enough money on the bar in payment.

He glances around the tavern and spots Ms. Whitley standing in the doorway of her office, which sits just off the side of the bar. The redheaded viper spots him and he does his best to look unperturbed. She turns on her heel and enters her office and he knows that she is demanding an audience with him immediately. He taps Karl on the shoulder and leans his head towards Emmaline’s office. Karl leans in close and whispers to him before he heads off.

“Rumor has it that Ms. Whitley got a shipment of new girls in today. Remember, you owe me one,” Karl states with a smirk.

He dismisses Karl with a wave of his hand and strolls into Ms. Whitley’s office.

“Shut the door, Captain,” she states with authority.

He closes the door, crosses the room and plants himself into one of the chairs facing her desk. He swings his legs up onto the desk and leans back with a cavalier air.

Emmaline saunters by and swipes his legs off of her desk.

“Per our agreement, Captain Flinton, you get the first inspection of our newest crop of girls,” she explains.

 _New girls._ It’s not that they’re not beautiful women, but they’re not the one he wants, the one he’s been missing for the last four hundred and eleven years.

Emmaline opens another door on the far side of the room and six women clad in only petticoats and corsets shuffle inside and line up.

“I think they will work out well. Most of them have experience, although I’m not quite sure about the foreign one,” Emmaline comments, as she points to a woman on the end with olive-hued skin.

He eyes them up and down as he goes down the line, until he gets to the end. His heart stops and he struggles to contain his excitement. It’s her. His heart fills with joy and excitement, but he can’t act on his feelings right now. If they know you care about someone or something, this world uses it against you. So, he has to play the part and act unimpressed. 

Suddenly, there’s a knock at the office door. Emmaline strides over and opens it to find Karl standing there.

“Captain, we have a problem.”

He sighs and sits up in the chair.

“I’ll be there in a minute,” he barks.

Karl nods and Emmaline closes the door once again.

“I’d like to sample the newest crop. I’ll narrow it down later. Keep the foreign one, the blonde in the middle and the brunette on the end out of rotation until I return.”

Emmaline agrees to this arrangement and dismisses the other three women. He opens the door and glances back at the love of his life before he meanders back into the tavern.

Two hours later, he finally winds his way back to the brothel. Ms. Whitley’s door is shut, but she’s hovering nearby. He meets her eyes and she tilts her head towards the office door. He glances around the room, then proceeds to stroll over to the office. Once inside, he almost loses it again when he sees her. This time, she’s fully dressed in a beautiful, light-blue, sack-back gown. The bodice of the robe à la française is tight, with a low-cut square neckline and wide pannier under the petticoat. She’s so beautiful it’s hard to breathe.

“Have you made a decision, Captain?” Ms. Whitley questions.

“Yes. Send the one in blue up to my room with supper and another bottle of rum,” he instructs.

He glances back over to her and wonders what her name is this time. Emmaline shuffles her out of the room and then dismisses the other two women.

“Is there anything else?” Ms. Whitley asks.

“I do not wish to be disturbed until morning.”

“Aye, aye, Captain,” she replies mockingly.

He exits through the back door of the office and climbs the stairs to the top floor. He turns the corner and walks down the veranda to his room. He takes a deep breath and throws the door open. She jumps up from the edge of the bed in surprise.

He enters the room, then shuts and bars the door. A platter of food and a second bottle of rum grace the small table in the corner. He gestures for her to have a seat and she hesitates for a moment, but then swoops across the room and sits down.

“What’s your name?” he asks, as he pours a glass of rum and sets it in front of her.

“Whatever you’d like it to be,” she responds seductively.

He’s so turned on right now he can barely see straight.

“I’d like to call you by your birth name, if I can.”

She looks shocked by this request, but shrugs her shoulders before taking another sip of her rum.

“Lucinda.”

He takes her hand and brings it to his lips.

“The pleasure is all mine, Lucinda.”

She blushes, as he kisses her hand softly. She’s clearly not used to being treated like this and it breaks his heart.

“How do you want me, Captain?”

_In my arms for eternity, or even one lifetime._

“Please, Lucinda, call me Garian,” he implores.

Now he’s really throwing her for a loop. She’s peering back at him through hooded lashes, trying to decipher if she should oblige or not.

“I don’t think you invited me up here to talk or drink, so…”

“That’s exactly what I invited you up here to do,” he replies with a wag of his eyebrow.

She chuckles and smiles back at him, clearly not believing a word he’s saying.

“If you’re being serious, I’m sure you can appreciate that I have other customers to attend to this evening.”

“ _No_ , you _don’t_. I’m paying for you to spend the night, my dear,” he informs her, as he takes a swig from his glass.

He hates talking to her like this, but he has to keep up the persona until he can get her to fall for him. It’s going to be tricky, because he doesn’t want to draw unwanted attention to her. She’s his weakness and if anyone finds out that tidbit of information, he’ll doom both of them.

She stands abruptly and hesitates before she opens her mouth.

“If that’s the case, I suppose you won’t mind if I remove this cumbersome pannier?”

She doesn’t give him a chance to respond to her question, but instead hikes her skirt up and unties the laces to the pannier. His eyes can’t help but follow the path of her skirt up her delicate thigh, like he’s a starving man and it’s the last bit of chicken on the island. She steps out of the hoop and tosses it aside to the corner. She might have caught him staring at her leg, because she moves to him in an instant and skims her fingers over his shoulders.

“Why don’t we take this off and we can both me more comfortable?” she asks, as she slides his jacket off.

He downs some more rum, the heat rising in his chest and nether regions. He stands up and turns around to find her right in front of him. She tilts her head in a peculiar manner and for once he doesn’t know how to read her.

“What?” he laughs.

“I…”

“Speak freely, _Lucinda_.”

“I guess I don’t understand why a man like you would need to pay for a woman like me,” she states shyly.

“What-what do you mean a man like me?” he asks with amusement.

“Well,” she states, as she begins to unbutton his shirt. “You’re the captain of a ship. I’m sure you have plenty of women throwing themselves at you.”

He laughs heartily and she stops unbuttoning his shirt to peer back up at him.

“Plus, you’re _very_ good-looking. I’m sure you could bed any woman on this island if you tried,” she declares, as she finishes removing his shirt.

He opens his mouth to respond, but she seals her lips to his a second later. The softness of her skin sears into him and he kisses her back with a ferocity that he didn’t know he was capable of. She guides his hands up to her breasts, his hands cupping them before moving to untie the stays. He kisses a trail down her neck. She begins to arch her back in response, as he removes the corset. Her hands fumble at his belt buckle for a moment, but she’s able to remove it, as well as his pants. She eyes him up and down with a salacious smile, licking her lips like a cat who caught a canary. He almost rips her petticoat he yanks it down so fast.

They tumble to the bed and she rolls him over so that she’s on top. Her dark hair is spilling down around her shoulders as she straddles him. He’s wild with desire and hisses loudly as she sinks down and takes him fully inside her.

“You just relax and let me take care of you,” she whispers into his ear, as she rocks her hips slowly.

 _He missed this, missed her more than anything, but he can’t tell her. She already thinks he’s a little off, he can’t afford to scare her off completely._

She’s riding him mercilessly at this point, his eyes rolling back into his head as a wave of pleasure bathes over him. He rises up and wraps his arms around her, pulling her closer to him and kissing her passionately. He bucks up into her hard and she lets out a little squeal. A primal urge overtakes him and he flips her over onto her back. He speeds up his pace, thrusting into her hard and deep. He plants kisses all along her body and gets a hand between them smoothing small circles over her clit. He knows she’s close, as her breath becomes more erratic. She cries out in ecstasy a moment later and he finishes at almost the same time. He doesn’t want to part from her at the moment, so he kisses her softly. He trails kisses from her lips to her neck and whispers in her ear, “You’re amazing, Lucinda.”

She’s staring back at him with glossy eyes, unable to hide her post-coital glow. He wants to immortalize this moment. Perhaps this is finally the life they will be able to spend together. Perhaps not. Right now, he doesn’t care. He just wants to be with her while he can.

After a small period of respite and half a bottle of rum, she’s ready to go again. He’s not complaining in the least, but he wants to get to know her more. He _needs_ to know everything about the woman who in this lifetime is called Lucinda. He thirsts for her to understand that this is not just a transaction for him. He doesn’t want it to be for her either, but he can’t tell her that. He thinks she enjoyed their coupling, but she’s paid to act like that. It’s going to take more than one night of glorious passion for him to be able to tell and for her to let down her walls. This is going to be an ongoing process, and the thought of her being with other men in the meantime is tearing his heart in two. He wants to be the only man in her life, the only one who gets to worship at her honey-tinged altar. He’s also cognizant of the fact that he’s going to have to earn that position, but it shouldn’t be too hard, especially since the rest of these sea-faring tars are mostly wham, bam, thank you ma’am.

Her hands rake up and down his chest and he shivers at her touch. She knows exactly what she’s doing to him and seems more than pleased with herself. He wants to make this about her and her pleasure, because any other man she’s with in this tropical hellhole definitely will not.

“What do you want this time?” she asks, as she nibbles on his earlobe.

He responds with an indistinct moan, as she trails kisses down his chest. She’s making him lose all ability to speak, and if he doesn’t make his move now, he’s not going to be able to stop her soon.

He cups her face in his hands and pulls her back up his body until their lips are almost brushing.

“I want…to make _you_ lose your mind,” he replies, as he flips her onto her back and presses her into the pillows.

“I’m not an easy woman to please, but you can always try,” she answers with a sly wink.

“Mmm, a challenge,” he states, as he runs his fingers down her throat. “I like a challenge.”

He trails kisses down her throat and chest, then takes a nipple into his mouth and sucks it to a stiff peak.

“I’ll give you a free hour if you manage to perform to my satisfaction. No faking, I swear.”

“Challenge accepted,” he muses, as he makes his way to her inner thigh.

He slowly drapes her legs over his shoulders and makes his way up her right thigh. He gets close to her center, but then proceeds to kiss and bite up her left thigh. She’s becoming more frustrated by the second, as he takes his good old time getting to where she wants him to be. He breathes over her center, as she weaves her fingers into his hair in a vain attempt to speed up his ministrations. He slides his tongue into her a little, and she bucks up hard against his mouth in response. He slides his tongue in even further and she tugs on his hair, as her breath becomes erratic. He skillfully avoids her clit for the moment and replaces his tongue with two fingers when he comes up for air. She’s responding just as he planned, her panting unmistakably illustrating how he’s affecting her. He withdraws his fingers and gazes back up at her. She’s wrecked. Her hair is tousled about, her pupils dilated and wild, and her skin is flushed. In other words…beautiful. He can tell that she’s trying her best not to beg him to finish. She’s so close to climax that all the rational thought is draining out of her like water in a bathtub.

He lowers his head again, but doesn’t dive in right away. Instead, he glances up her gorgeous curves and meets her eyes. She’s right at the edge of begging out loud, having been silently begging with her eyes for the last minute or so. He gives her a Cheshire cat smile and then proceeds to lap at her clit. The words “oh, Captain,” escape her lips a moment later. She’s gripping the sheets with all her might as he continues his ministrations even after she’s climaxed.

Once he’s done, he tries to get up and get more rum, but she’s grabbing at him aimlessly with both arms. He allows her to get ahold of his forearm. She yanks him towards her, claiming his lips possessively. He knows he’s got his hook in her, (literally and figuratively), as she continues to kiss him frantically. He’s also aware that he’s been cheating, having had centuries to perfect his proficiency for her pleasure.

“That was…”

He turns and props himself up on his elbow to look at her.

“That was…”

“That good that you lost your ability to form words?” he laughs.

She nods her head emphatically, still gasping for air. He chuckles again, leans over, gives her a peck on the cheek and then climbs out of bed. He strides over to the small table and plucks a few grapes from the stem. He watches her out of the corner of his eye, as he pops a grape into his mouth. She appears blissfully happy, which is all he needs to make him feel the same way.

“So, do I get my free hour?” he jokes.

“Did I say an hour?” she asks, as she joins him at the table. “Make it three,” she adds, as she seductively pops a grape into her own mouth.

For the next few weeks, he carefully selects his rendezvous with Lucinda. Emmaline is growing suspicious, and he doesn’t trust that woman as far as he can throw her. There’s also the increasing issue of his rival, Captain Kaynes, who definitely has his eye set on Lucinda, not to mention the British navy who continues to be a thorn in his side.

He’s on his way back to Nassau after having just taken a lucrative prize and he can’t stop thinking about Lucinda. He was worrying that his charms weren’t working on her for a while. Luckily, she dispelled that notion quickly when she passed on the information about the ship he just attacked. They’ll kill her if they find out she gave him this information. He didn’t request that she do any of this, which helps confirm her true feelings for him. Apparently, Lucinda is an enterprising young woman with a knack for getting sailors to spill their secrets, himself included.

He was hoping to find something on the ship that he could give to her; a piece of jewelry or a new silk dress, but it wasn’t meant to be. It wasn’t a total bust, the tobacco and cotton alone were worth a good deal.

As he approaches the brothel, he notices that the air is thick with tension. Something is going on. He can feel it.

When he enters the brothel, he finds Emmaline trying to plead with Captain Kaynes to go easy on the poor foreign girl. He doesn’t hesitate and immediately grabs ahold of his rival, his dagger flush against the man’s throat.

“Perhaps you should find your entertainment elsewhere this evening,” he suggests.

Captain Kaynes releases the girl’s arm and backs up.

“You’ll pay for this Flinton!” he screams, as his men drag him outside.

Emmaline shoots him a worried look. He’s positive that Kaynes still has spies in the tavern and he doesn’t want to lead them straight to Lucinda. He hates to do this, but he doesn’t see another option at the moment. In order to throw any spies off the scent, he takes the foreign girl by the hand and leads her upstairs.

As they stride along the veranda, he catches sight of Lucinda at the opposite end. _He knows she saw him, so why did she turn and try to hide?_ She pops back around the corner a moment later, and walks towards them.

“What happened to her?” she asks.

He can’t risk anyone overhearing them, so he drapes an arm around each woman and leads them into his room. Once they’re inside, Lucinda runs to the other woman.

“Jaya, what did he do to you?”

The foreign woman eyes him with uncertainty, but Lucinda pulls her gaze back to her.

“Kaynes hit her,” he answers. “I put a stop to it.”

“He hit you too?” Lucinda questions.

Jaya nods her head as tears stream down her face.

“What do you mean _too?_ ” he demands.

Lucinda stares at her feet and he moves closer and lifts her chin with his hand. As soon as he does, he notices the black eye that she’s sporting, her makeup covering the worst of it.

“Did _he_ do this?” he shouts.

Lucinda nods and he can feel the rage boiling in his blood. She goes up on her tip-toes and whispers in his ear, “We can discuss this later when we’re alone.”

It takes some convincing by Lucinda to get Jaya to calm down and trust him. Once she falls asleep, Lucinda sits down at the table and takes his hand in hers.

“I had no right to act that way. I don’t own you. You’re not a possession,” he states quietly.

“No, I’m not. I’m just the woman you love. Perfectly understandable.”

He doesn’t know how to respond. He’s never told her that he loves her in this lifetime, even though he does with all his heart. She cups his cheeks and kisses him softly.

“I know you love me. You don’t have to say it when it’s written all over your face and deeds.”

“You’re the most amazing woman in the entire world, Lucinda-I just realized that I don’t even know your last name.”

“Prestly,” she answers.

“Lucinda Prestly: the most beautiful woman in the entire world,” he muses, as he pulls her into his lap and kisses her passionately.

He peeks over to the bed to make sure the other woman is still sleeping.

“She won’t say anything. She’s been like a sister to me.”

“Tell me something that no one else knows about Miss Lucinda Prestly,” he requests, as he presses her closer.

She thinks for a minute or so, then laces her arms around his neck.

“I treasure books more than silk dresses or jewels,” she whispers.

He doesn’t doubt it. She’s always loved to read.

“I’ll keep that it mind next time I take a prize,” he responds with a smile.

They don’t have sex that night, but they do wind up in bed. Lucinda lies in the middle, Jaya clinging to her for comfort on the far side of the bed, and he takes the other side. Lucinda curls into his body and rests her head on his chest, like a cat napping in the window.

He desperately wants to take a prize that will set him up for life. If he can stash enough money away, he can leave with Lucinda and never look back. He doesn’t want the sea to reclaim him, or a noose to strangle his neck like most of his pirate brethren. They can go anywhere in the world and start over. He just needs his ship to come in.

One night, about a month later, the town is in an uproar over Kaynes’ latest expedition of idiocy. Sure, he brought in a great prize, but he did it so brazenly that the might of the British Navy is sure to descend upon them. The fort can cover the harbor, but they’re no match if the British bring a man-of-war to their shores.

He’s sitting in the corner of the tavern, Jaya on his lap, playing cards with Karl and a couple members of his crew. Lucinda is working in the tavern tonight, which he is _very_ grateful for. Jaya has become a useful asset to him. Although they have never slept together or participated in any other type of sexual activity, she is fiercely loyal to him for interfering with Kaynes on her behalf. She’s provided him with a few tips about potential prizes as well, since she seems to be popular with the Spanish and Portuguese merchants and sailors. There seems to be an overabundance of Spanish sailors in the tavern this evening, which makes him nervous.

He taps Jaya on her ass, signaling for her to leave the table. She kisses him on the cheek before she leaves. He watches out of the corner of his eye as she introduces herself to the Spanish sailors. Hopefully, she’ll be able to pry some useful information from them tonight. He finishes his hand of cards, then stands and wanders over to the bar. He informs Emmaline that he’s taking Lucinda for the evening as he’s in the process of grabbing her hand and leading her out the side door.

“Where are we going?” she asks, as he leads her towards his horse.

“I have a surprise for you. It’s not far from here,” he responds, as he lifts her up into the saddle.

They ride on the moonlit trail until the town is far from sight. A sugarcane plantation lies to the north, but they turn west and ride down into the valley. He stops outside of a small cabin and helps her down before securing the horse to the hitching post.

“Where are we?” Lucinda questions as she glances all around.

“My home,” he answers, as he takes her hand in his and leads her up the front porch steps.

“I-I didn’t know you had a place on the island.”

“No one does, except for you.”

He leads her inside and she takes a seat at the table in the dining area. He disappears into the bedroom and returns with a small wooden box in his hands. He hands it to her and watches intently as she opens it. The box itself is made of plain wood, but the contents of it are what he’s excited about. She pulls out a leather bound book, her fingers caressing the spine lovingly.

“Don Quixote!”

“You said you liked books. I stole it from the captain’s cabin on the last prize I took and thought you might like to have it.”

The smile she beams back at him melts his heart.

“I love it!” she shrieks as she pulls him into an embrace. “But not as much as I love you.”

“I love you more than anything. That’s also part of the reason I brought you here. If something happens, I want you to promise me that you’ll come here, take the money and get off the island as fast as you can.”

She shakes her head at him.

“I won’t leave you. You have to know that,” Lucinda declares.

“You have to. I need to know that you’re safe and that they can’t get to you,” he pleads as he kisses her lips softly.

“Fine. I promise.”

“That’s my girl.”

Three months later, he takes the greatest prize of all: a Spanish treasure galleon. It has been blown off course by a storm, its armed escorts nowhere in sight. The galleon is loaded with gold and silver, emeralds and rubies. It’s the prize he’s been waiting for. Now his problem lies in figuring out what to do with it all. If he just sails into port in Nassau, word will spread across the island in no time. The rest of the pirates will attack him and try to take the gold. He has nowhere to store it on the island where it will be secure. He could bury it on a smaller island on his way back, but he’ll run the risk of one of his crew blabbing the location. Plus, the Spanish will figure out what happened eventually.

He only really has one option, and it makes his skin crawl. In the meantime, he takes his tobacco pouch out of his jacket and fills it with the gems. The rest of his crew hasn’t seen them yet, and he needs some kind of backup plan. They sail to a small atoll a short distance from Nassau and bring the treasure ashore. The majority of his crew dig the holes for the chests and bury them.

They decide to sail for Nassau the next morning. In the middle of the night, he, Karl, and his navigator, Rudy, sneak off the ship and dig up the treasure. They move it to another location and rebury it. They sneak back on the ship, the crew none the wiser, and sail back to Nassau the next morning.

He meets up with Lucinda the second he sets foot upon land again. He passes the tobacco pouch to her under one of the tables in the tavern.

“Don’t open that here. Take it and go back to the cabin. If I’m not back by nightfall, you need to leave the island like we planned.”

“I won’t leave you.”

“I’ll catch up, I promise,” he states, as he kisses the top of her head.

“I can’t leave Jaya. We need to bring her with us,” she advises.

“Fine. Just be discreet, my love.”

“Where should we meet if you don’t make it back to the cabin by sundown?” she questions.

“Tortuga.”

They embrace for a long while, their foreheads pressed to one another. He doesn’t want to let her go, but he has to. They part ways and he hopes upon all hope that he makes it to the cabin. If not, he hopes he can make it to Tortuga and catch up with the women.

He hastily makes his way back to the beach and finds Karl and Rudy. Both of them have an expression of alarm across their face.

“The Spanish have blockaded the harbor. They’re looking for the gold. What the hell are we going to do now?” Karl asks in a panic.

He glances over at Rudy. Karl would sell out his own mother to save his skin, which makes his next decision easy. Rudy nods his head slightly, suddenly pulls his dagger and slits Karl’s throat.

“We leave now, right captain?” Rudy asks.

“Yes, Rudy. Now we leave.”

He didn’t want to have to do that, but dead men tell no tales. Rudy has already proven his loyalty over and over, ever since he saved him from a slave ship all those years ago. Rudy could have easily gone with the other maroons to the island, but he chose to join Captain Flinton’s crew instead. If he were anyone else, he would have met the same fate as Karl.

They don’t make it to the cabin by sundown. In fact, they never make it to the cabin at all. The Spanish intercept them before they ever make it out of the town proper. Kaynes, that rat, made a deal with the Spanish which guarantees his own safety, but it doesn’t come for free. The price: the pirates of Nassau. He hasn’t heard nor seen any sign of Lucinda or Jaya, so he’s pretty certain that they made it out alright. He, however, will meets his end in this lifetime by the noose, just like the rest of his pirate brethren.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DEFINITIONS
> 
> Sack-back gown/robe à la française= had fabric at the back arranged in box pleats which fell loose from the shoulder to the floor with a slight train. In front, the gown was open, showing off a decorative stomacher and petticoat. It would have been worn with a wide square hoop or panniers under the petticoat. Scalloped ruffles often trimmed elbow-length sleeves, which were worn with separate frills called engageantes. 
> 
> pannier=an oval framework used for distending the skirt of a woman’s dress at the hips.
> 
> petticoat=an underskirt, especially one that is full and often trimmed and ruffled and of a decorative fabric.
> 
> man-of-war=warship


	10. London

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flynn flees a life of war for a quieter existence when he stumbles upon Lucy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is going to be the last timeline before we hit the modern era, but we haven't quite caught up to canon just yet.

**_London, England (1818 A.D.)_ **

When he arrives in London, he doesn’t expect to stay long. He has business to attend to and a few friends to call upon, but none of that should take long. The city is too crowded, too congested and too noisy for his liking. The sooner he can get back to his manor in Wales the better. The countryside suits him like a hand to a glove.

He conducts most of his necessary business on the first day he arrives, then calls on his longtime friend, Kent Worthingham. His friend receives him warmly and they dine that evening in the company of Kent’s sister, Eleanor. Thankfully, he seems to get along with Eleanor rather well, which is rare indeed, since she can be a bit venomous at times.

“Gareth, you must accompany us to the ball tomorrow. I insist. It will be dreadfully boring without your company,” Eleanor declares, as she sips her wine slowly.

Gareth Finnin is the name he goes by in this lifetime. He has to admit, after centuries of fighting, this aristocratic, mundane lifestyle has been a breath of fresh air. He’s tired of war, so very tired of it. Peace, even if it’s only a fleeting figment of his mind, is worth the hours of boredom.

“Eleanor my dear, you flatter me, but you know that I abhor those types of events,” he answers, as he takes a sip of his own wine.

“Brother, make him come with us. I want someone to dance with,” Eleanor states with a pout, her green eyes wide and sparkling.

“It _would_ provide new business opportunities for you. And, a great deal of beautiful women will be there,” Kent teases.

Eleanor is not about to give up on this and if he can secure some additional business out of the deal, he can tolerate a few dances with the who’s who of London society. Plus, he has to admit that he has come to appreciate the feel of fine clothing on his skin. It beats a hauberk and chain mail any day.

“Fine. I will accompany you. Who is hosting this ball?”

“Lord Prescott. It is literally the talk of the town. They always have such magnificent parties,” Eleanor responds with a huge smile.

Lord Prescott is one of the wealthiest men in England. His connections alone make him an invaluable ally. If he can manage to make a good impression on the man, perhaps this ball can be most profitable indeed. 

He spends the night at Worthingham’s townhouse and the morning deciding which of the clothes he brought with him will be suitable for this evening’s festivities. He forages through his things, finally deciding he needs to purchase something else for the occasion. He didn’t expect to be attending a ball while he was here. Plus, he should look his absolute best if he wants to impress Lord Prescott.

He makes his way into town to purchase a new cravat and waistcoat. The rest of his wardrobe will have to make do. It’s not as if he’s going to look like a pauper. His attire is a reflection on him as a man and a businessman, so he always tries to look his best.

A few hours later, he inspects himself in the mirror and readjusts his white cravat. Most of his garments are plain, from his white shirt with the high collar to the white waistcoat and breeches. The only other color he wears is black. His Hessian boots are plain, but freshly shined. His tail coat is where he likes to show off his wealth anyway. This one is made of black wool and has a plain weave and full finish. It’s embellished with silk velvet and a wool braid trim and metallic buttons. 

He meets Kent and Eleanor downstairs in the front parlor. The three of them step out into the foyer, the men donning their greatcoats and Eleanor her shawl and muff. The front door opens to an awaiting carriage and the butler hands him his black, silk, top-hat and cane. Eleanor latches onto his arm instead of her brother’s, which startles him slightly, but he literally grins and bears it. 

The carriage ride is not long to St. James Place and the three of them step out into the early evening air, taking in the splendor of Prescott House. They make their way inside and begin to mingle. Kent spots Lord Prescott and drags him for his introduction.

He’s thankful that his reputation as a wealthy landowner and shrewd businessman proceeds him. Lord Prescott seems very much interested in pursuing a future endeavor together. He even goes so far as to introduce him to his youngest daughter, Amelia, and encourage them to share a dance together. Eleanor is annoyed, but she dare not say anything against her host’s daughter. 

The young lady is quite attractive, but she is much too young for him. He’s not the best dancer in the room, but he’s certainly not the worst. That honor falls to his friend, Kent. Eleanor grabs him for the next dance and then Lord Prescott corners him again. He is a little too pushy for his liking. He’s always been wary of people like that. Kent swoops in and rescues him for a few minutes and then Lord Prescott taps him on the shoulder.

“Mr. Finnin, may I introduce you to my eldest daughter, Louise.”

When he turns around, he almost drops his champagne flute. _Her._ She is such a contradiction from the last time he saw her in Nassau. He is as well, so he shouldn’t be _that_ surprised. She looks heavenly in her white, empire dress with gold-braiding. Her luscious locks are curled and pinned in an elegant up-do, with decorative gold-braiding hair pins. She reminds him instantly of Lucera of Sparta, a name he’d almost forgotten he’d last spoken it so long ago. It was the first time he found her after his exile. It’s a name he _shouldn’t_ forget.

He panics when he realizes he’s just been standing their awkwardly, until Kent makes a joke about how he must have hit his fun tolerance for the evening, since he’s all about making money. This, of course, pleases Lord Prescott and he forgets all about the bumbling introduction of a few minutes ago. Louise rolls her eyes when her father turns away and his heart squeezes and constricts at his awful first impression.

He finally manages to break free from Lord Prescott’s never-ending tongue-wagging when he sees Eleanor striding towards him. He really just needs a break right now, so he bolts for the balcony and runs smack into Miss Louise Prescott, _literally_. He almost bowls her over, so he quickly reaches for her waist and sets her right.

“Pardon me, miss.”

She nods and then pushes back into the ballroom, leaving his heart bereft of her presence once again. Now that he knows she’s here, he doesn’t plan on leaving London so hastily. 

Plans have a way of changing when you least expect them. An urgent matter arises at his estate in Scotland that he must personally attend to, much to the dismay of Lord Prescott. Miss Prescott, on the other hand, seems pleased to be rid of him and he is beside himself with grief over it. He has never had a difficult time in any of their past lives together getting her to fall in love with him. Yet, every time he opens his mouth around her, he either manages to anger her or sound like a complete idiot who cannot utter a coherent thought to save his life. 

Lord Prescott is foaming at the mouth at the business opportunities he can gain by their association. He invites him to visit the Prescott country estate on his return from Scotland and he cannot deny the man if it means more time around her. He _has_ to win her over somehow. _But, how?_ He muses on this for the entire day, when it finally dawns on him: poetry. She loves poetry above all. He can’t send a love poem from himself when she still has such a poor opinion of him, but he can send one anonymously.

He sits at his mahogany desk, pulls out the ink and quill and begins to compose in his head the first few lines. He’s never done this before and he seems to be struggling mightily. He reads some poetry books he has in his library, though all of his favorite ones are back in Wales. He tells himself that he just needs to remember what he loves about her. He dips the quill into the ink and puts his thoughts on paper.

_Miss Louise,_

_I do not presume that you will welcome this intrusion, but I must confess I have been captivated with you ever since we collided like stars wandering the cosmos. The brilliance of your smile explodes my heart like a supernova. You enchant me with your wit and tenacity. I long to learn more about you, even if I must learn through observation from afar. Perhaps one day, we may shine in each other’s company once again._

_Until then I remain,_

_Your Fondest Admirer_

It’s not a poem, but it is a poetic love letter. It’s the best he can do right now and he prays that she will welcome the overture. He cannot fathom what he will do if she does not.

He arrives at Lord Prescott’s country manor a fortnight later. Much to his dismay, she’s not there. He puts love on the backburner and concentrates on inking a few deals with Lord Prescott that should prove to be quite lucrative.

Lord Prescott drags him out in the afternoon for a bit of fishing on his private pond. When they return to the house, the servants are all abuzz with activity. Lady Prescott and their two daughters have arrived at the manor and are freshening themselves up for a formal dinner with their guest. He takes the hint and retires to his own guest chamber to make himself presentable for dinner. Butterflies flit around his stomach at the anticipation of seeing her again. He spends extra time inspecting himself in the mirror, then chides himself for being so vain and ridiculous. 

Lord Prescott and he enjoy a drink in the study while they await the ladies’ presence. Suddenly, there’s a knock on the study door. He snaps his head towards the door, but is disappointed that it’s only the butler. He informs them that Lady Preston and Miss Preston and Miss Preston are awaiting them in the dining room. The men amble out of the room slowly, Lord Preston hanging on his every word about the new Arabian steed he recently acquired. 

His breath catches the minute they enter the dining room and he spots her. She is as beautiful as ever in a white gown with blue stripes. He is seated next to Amelia, the youngest daughter. It’s only then that he notices the two extra place settings. Louise is seated across the table and one seat over and she hasn’t glanced his way even once. She’s busy conversing with her mother and Lord Prescott continues to yammer away at him. 

As the first course is being served, the butler reappears at the door and two men enter and take the empty seats. They beg the Lord and Lady’s apology for their tardiness and immediately turn their attention to Louise. Apparently, one of them is a young doctor from London and the other man is a Colonel in His Majesty’s service. He knows instantly that these men are rivals for her affection and he needs to step his game up if he has any hopes of wooing her. Luckily for him, Lord Prescott is none too thrilled about their tardiness, carriage troubles be damned. Lady Prescott, on the other hand, seems to be quite fond of the Colonel. He has the distinct feeling she’s the one that’s responsible for seating him next to Louise in the first place.

“Mr. Finnin, it surprises me that a man of your stature has yet to wed and settle down,” Lady Prescott states suddenly.

Everyone turns and stares at him. He swallows his wine with a visible gulp, then plasters a smile on his face.

“I do not believe marriage should be entered into lightly, my lady. And, I suppose that I have yet to meet a woman who has stirred the desire in me to abandon my bachelorhood,” he replies, as he stares longingly at the woman he has loved for as long as he can remember.

He quickly looks away and flashes a smile at Amelia instead. She gazes dreamily back at him, and now he may be creating a problem he _really_ doesn’t need. If they all think he’s interested in Amelia…

“You might want to rethink that sentiment my good man,” Lord Prescott declares. “You need heirs to pass along your legacy. Preferably, male ones.”

An awkward silence falls over the entire table as Lord Prescott glares at Lady Prescott with disdain. Thankfully, the next course is being served and everyone shoves food into their mouths to excuse the prolonged silence. 

After dinner, he manages to sneak out into the gardens for some air. His mind is racing with thoughts and he wishes for the quiet solitude of Wales. His mind would be clearer if he were there. Movement from behind him startles him a moment later. He whips around to find her approaching him with a quizzical expression on her gorgeous face.

“Miss Prescott,” he states in a low, husky voice. 

“Mr. Finnin. What brings you out to the gardens? Surely, there can be no business to conduct at this late hour, unless it is business of ill-repute.”

He chuckles and grins back at her. “It is nothing of that sort, Miss Prescott. I merely enjoy strolling in the fresh, evening air.”

That fact seems to take her back a bit, but he doesn’t have a chance to ask her why because her mother is chasing after her. She rolls her eyes, excuses herself and strolls slowly towards her mother. He walks further into the gardens and begins to gather inspiration from the colorful and exotic blooms that litter the grounds.

After a short stroll, he meanders back to his room at the manor and takes a seat at the small, writing desk. He decides he’s going to be bold and send another letter. He begins to compose what he wants to say to her in his head. As he ponders what romantic overtures his letter should express, he becomes painfully aware that he’s not going to have sufficient time to win her over. His next best option is to continue pursuing a relationship with her father. He doesn’t want to make her do something she doesn’t want to, but if an arranged marriage is his only hope of being with her in this life, he’s going to take it.

_Miss Louise,_

_The continued absence of your presence withers my heart like a flower without sun or water. Your eyes sparkle like the morning dew on a field of heather, your smile a blessed ray of sunshine. I adore that you see the splendor of nature with awe and admiration like no other. I find myself having those same sentiments about you. I confess that I do not even know if admiration is a strong enough word for what I feel. I find you to be a most remarkable woman. I ask that you keep an open mind and heart until I may reveal myself._

_In the meantime I remain,_

_Your Fondest Admirer_

He seals the letter with wax, but does not use any type of seal for fear she may discover his identity before he is ready. He places the letter inside another with instructions on what to do. He sends the letter to his home in Wales, knowing that his butler, Reginald, will receive it and follow the aforementioned instructions with meticulous proficiency. This way, she will receive the letter while he is still here and he will be able to judge her reaction for himself. 

He and the entire family are having lunch on the terrace one day, along with Dr. Dashing and Colonel Charm, when the letter arrives. Her eyes widen with excitement and sparkle as the butler hands her the letter in front of everyone. He discretely watches her from the corner of his eye and revels in her delight.

“What is that Louise?” her mother asks.

“Love letters from a secret admirer,” Amelia tattles.

“Louise!” her mother scolds.

Dr. Dashing and Colonel Charm appear utterly dismayed by this news and her reaction. He, on the other hand, acts as if this news has no effect on him. _He’s just thankful they can’t hear his heart hammering out of his chest._

“This will not do at all. This is not the behavior of a lady or a gentleman,” her father bellows.

Louise opens and read the letter.

“Father, this letter indicates that the writer will reveal himself,” she states pleadingly.

“It is of no concern either way. I have the ultimate say when it comes to the identity of the man you will marry. I have made my decision and I will not be swayed by some ridiculous romantic gesture or the whims of my own child.”

Before dinner, Lord Prescott speaks to each of his daughter’s potential suitors (at least in his eyes because he certainly has made no overture towards such a thing). Dr. Dashing goes in first and comes out looking as if he’s just killed his first patient. He’s called into the study a few seconds after the doctor departs.

“Mr. Finnin, I have come to think very highly of you over the course of our newly-forged relationship. You have proven to be a man of honor with great business acumen. I think you would be a worthy husband to my daughter. What say you to my offer?”

He’s about ready to combust into flames he’s so filled with passion and love right now. But, having such a great business acumen has taught him to never show his cards first.

“You honor me, my lord. Your daughter is a beautiful woman indeed, but I fear this infatuation for this secret admirer of hers is most distressing to me.”

“Say no more of that. My daughter will do her duty and forget about that nonsense. Is that your only objection then?” Lord Prescott questions with a hint of hope in his voice.

“Would you think less of me if I requested some time to reflect on your proposal?”

“Not at all. See, good business acumen,” Lord Prescott comments, as he places a hand on his shoulder and escorts him to the door. “I shall inform her of my decision as soon as I advise Colonel Robertson that he can return home.”

He shakes Lord Prescott’s hand and tries to hide the smirk that’s creeping onto his face as he passes Colonel Charm in the corridor. He doesn’t like forcing her into a marriage with him, but he’s hopeful that she will see him for who he truly is once they are married.

He’s tried to make inroads with her, but she’s not happy about their upcoming nuptials to say the least. Every single time the butler brings a letter, she gets her hopes up only to be disappointed. It’s breaking his heart. He doesn’t want her father to upset her, or heaven forbid, hit her, but he decides he’s going to write one more letter.

_Miss Louise,_

_It is disheartening to hear of your upcoming nuptials, but I know that you will certainly be the most angelic of brides. Visions of you haunt my dreams, and thoughts of you consume my waking hours. You are the personification of beauty; a divine goddess bathed in stardust among mere mortals. Since it appears I am destined to love you from afar, I pray that you take comfort in knowing that somewhere in the world is a man who loves you with every fiber of his being. Perhaps one day, you may ascertain my identity, but in light of your upcoming nuptials, I will remain an anonymous admirer for now._

_I wish you all the best in your new life._

_Your Fondest Admirer_

The letter arrives while they happen to be taking a moonlit stroll through the gardens. She seems worried that he will take offense and tell her father about it, but he assures her he would not dare to presume anything.

“I imagine many of your friends would be writing to congratulate you on your engagement,” he states, as he takes a seat on a garden bench.

She smiles back at him with an understanding of the alibi he’s just happily provided. The way she glances over at him in the next moment springs hope in his heart. Maybe, she’s finally starting to see him for the man he truly is.

“I can also imagine that your beauty would undoubtedly attract the attentions of many men, which only reinforces how truly lucky I am,” he whispers, as his cheeks burn red.

She blushes in response and ducks her head down. She tucks the letter inside her dress and retakes his offered arm as they continue their nightly stroll. 

They are married a month later and his prediction of her being an angelic bride was definitely spot on. He knows that she put on a happy face during the ceremony. He’s not sure if she believed him when he put her wedding ring on and told her, “With this ring I thee wed, with my body I thee worship and with all my worldly goods, I thee endow…”

He means every one of those words and he desperately wants her to believe him. He _needs_ her to believe him. 

At sunset, they set out in their carriage for their honeymoon in Scotland. He can sense how nervous she is as they pull into the inn they are staying at for the night. They’ll continue on to Scotland in the morning.

By the time they are escorted to their room, she is wound so tight she might snap. She begins to undress, her hands visibly shaking as she does. He rushes over to her and places his hands over hers.

“No. Not like this,” he tells her, as he shakes his head.

She seems genuinely confused by this and waits for him to say what she should do. He hates this timidity and lack of confidence in her. He knows this is an arranged marriage, but he was hoping she would understand that he didn’t view her as his property. 

“I-I know you were forced into this marriage, but I will not force you into my bed. I hope, someday, you may want that, but I will never force you to,” he explains.

He tries to ignore the sigh of relief she lets out; it hurts too much to do otherwise. They both change into their nightclothes and climb into bed. He can feel her eyes on him and he turns onto his side so he can see her better. She opens her mouth a couple of times, then slams it shut. Clearly, she wants to say something, but is having difficulty getting the words out. He gently takes ahold of her hand and kisses it softly.

“I will not hurt you or mistreat you. I promise and swear on all that is holy.”

“What-what if I never want you to share my bed?” she asks tentatively.

Technically, they are sharing a bed here at the inn, but he understands what she’s alluding to. 

“I-I suppose it will be a lonely existence for the both of us then, but I will not renege on my promise to you.”

She considers his answer, then leans forward and presses a soft, chaste kiss to his lips.

“Goodnight, Mr. Finnin.”

“Goodnight, my dear.”

When they reach his manor in Scotland, he watches in awe as she takes in the breathtaking view with her signature smile. She seems taken immediately with the place, which he hopes is a good omen that she will also like the manor in Wales as much as he does. After they have settled in, he invites her to join him at the stables. She does as he requests and arrives at the stables with a newly-enlivened zeal. He stands before her with the reins to a beautiful, gray, Arabian mare.

“For you, my dear. Part of your wedding present,” he states sheepishly.

She seems to be touched by this gift and runs her hand along the mare’s side. She is smiling from ear to ear, eyes wide with excitement. 

“I take it you like her then?” he questions.

She opens her mouth and is once again speechless, but then hurls herself at him and embraces him tightly.

“I love her!” she exclaims.

She pulls back a moment later and stares at the ground.

“Would you accompany me on a ride?” he requests.

She lifts her head back up and smiles. They ride through the countryside, enjoying a rare sunny day. There is not much in the way of conversation, until they stop at a brook to water the horses.

“I admit that I am not ready to fully be your wife at the moment, but I must confess that things are moving in the right direction. I ask that you honor your promise and allow me time to adjust to my new life.”

He nods his head and takes her hand in his.

“I will not renege on my promise. I care for you too much to do that.”

They enjoy riding together for the remainder of their time in Scotland before they depart back to Wales. This time, he is the nervous one as the carriage pulls up to the manor. This is his favorite place in all the world and he hopes and prays she will come to love it just as much as he does. 

At dinner, he informs her he would like to throw a ball in her honor. He has never enjoyed them, but he knows that she does and he wants her to be happy. 

“I will leave the details and invitations up to you. Just tell the servants what you need or require and they will obtain it for you. No expense is to be spared for you, my love,” he states as he kisses her hand.

This time, she does not pull her hand back from his. He absentmindedly rubs tiny circles with his thumb, as he gazes longingly into her eyes.

“You-you will let me handle _everything_?” she asks in shock.

“Why wouldn’t I? You are a more than capable woman and I’m sure you would prefer to have your own tastes reflected at a party thrown in your honor, no?”

“I…very much so, yes. Thank you.”

“Lu-Louise-”

“Lu, I don’t believe I’ve ever been called that before,” she interrupts.

“I’m sorry. I meant no offense.”

“I like it,” she answers, as she smiles back at him.

He loves to be the reason that she smiles and this is not the first time he has been the cause for one since they have been wed. He wants to kiss her so desperately right now, but he has kept his promise and not forced her to do anything.

She pulls her hand back and stands.

“Well, then, if you will excuse me, I believe I have quite a bit of work to get on with,” she declares.

To his shock, she leans down and kisses his cheek. He cannot help the sheepish grin that engulfs his face a second later. They are moving towards each other in tiny increments, but at least they’re moving towards each other and not in the opposite direction. His hope grows with every day they spend together.

As he enters their bedchamber at night, she is so giddy with delight with all that she has already accomplished that day. They climb into bed together and lie on their backs staring at the ceiling for a moment. She runs a few ideas by him to get his opinion, which surprises him, but also comforts him that she cares enough to ask what he thinks. He answers her honestly and the next thing he knows, she lays her head on his chest and wraps an arm around him. He lies there as still as a statue, afraid to break his promise to her. She’s so close and smells so good and his body is not cooperating with his brain right now.

She tilts her head up and stares at him.

“Is something wrong?”

“No. Why-why would you ask that, my love?” he questions, as he swallows hard.

Her hair is coming out of her braid, loosely spilling around her shoulders. She is overwhelming him in every sense.

“I-I thought…”

“Thought what? Please, Lu, talk to me,” he pleads, as he takes her hand in his and kisses it softly.

“I thought you wanted to be intimate with me, yet I get as close to you as I can and you won’t even hold me. I don’t know how any of this is supposed to work between husbands and wives, so if I’m wrong-”

She never gets the chance to finish that sentence because his lips are on hers in an instant. His hand weaves into her hair as he kisses her passionately. He pulls back and searches her face for any hint of doubt or regret, but finds none.

“Mmm, if I knew you could kiss like that, I might have married you sooner,” she laughs, as she plays with a lock of his hair.

“Is that so?” he asks, as he playfully raises an eyebrow.

She nods back at him with a wicked glint in her eye. He knows that look well by now, though he’s never witnessed it in this iteration of her.

“Well, I must confess that I think I can do better if given the chance,” he adds.

She leans towards him slowly, as his one hand cradles the nape of her neck and the other wraps around her waist. This kiss is slow and tender at first, then he slips his tongue into her mouth, tasting and sampling her as if it was the first time. Her hands come up and around his neck as he deepens the kiss further.

“At our wedding, when I told you that I would worship you with my body, I meant _every_ , _single_ _word_.”

He trails kisses down her neck as he whispers this and she lets out a breathy sigh that only encourages his ministrations further. She pulls back from him and lifts her shift up and over her head. There is not an ounce of resistance left in him now. He practically rips his own nightshirt up and over his head and then plasters his mouth to her once more. The switch has been flipped and he sets about his work meticulously. He knows her body as well as his own, knows all the combinations of things to do to get her to scream his name in ecstasy and he is not holding back now. It’s been a hundred years since he’s been with her and he can’t wait any longer. 

He pins her to the bed and explores every inch of her body properly. She’s already gasping and panting before his mouth hones in on her center. He ignores her clit at first and works her open with his fingers and tongue. Once she’s close to climax, he works his way up to her clit and she cries out as soon as his tongue touches it. He doesn’t even let her come down from her high before he slides up her body and inches his way into her. He is addicted to the euphoria of their union, yet he concentrates on her needs almost exclusively. It’s not long before she’s rocking in unison with him, unable to speak with any semblance of coherent speech, just sighs and moans. They both finish a little while later and lie lazily entangled in each other’s limbs until the morning. 

Their morning is interrupted by a messenger with an urgent business problem. He sits at his desk mumbling to himself, as he scribbles a scathing reply to a former business associate. He doesn’t notice that she’s awake until he feels her hands press down on his shoulders.

“Come back to bed,” she whispers, as she plants kisses on his neck.

He doesn’t dare turn around because if he looks at her, he will do just that.

“I-I need to take care of this. They’ve bungled the shipment and I-I’m going to have to go to London to straighten this all out.”

“You don’t have to go...”

She trails off as she picks up a page of discarded paper. It’s one of his first drafts that he dismissed as not scathing enough. She brings it close to her face and inspects it carefully before her eyes go wide.

“What? What is it?” he asks in concern.

“ _You?_ It was you?”

“What was me?”

“My fondest admirer?”

He realizes his mistake as soon as she asks the question, but he cannot lie to her. He nods his head in affirmation and then stares at his feet. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asks.

“I-I didn’t know how and I was afraid you would reject me and I love you too much and-”

The next thing he knows, her shift goes flying into the air and she’s climbing on top of him in the chair. She almost knocks them both over before he picks her up by her thighs and places her on top of the desk. She pulls at his trousers and he wastes no time in removing them. 

“Lu…”

“Shh, no more talking,” she orders, as she pulls him down into a passionate kiss and grabs ahold of his cock.

He jumps slightly, but his insatiable desire for her takes over and the next thing he knows he’s in her to the hilt. She knocks over the inkwell trying to brace herself on the desk. The jet black stream flows down the desk towards them, but neither of them stop. Their love making is frenzied, fast and frantic and they are getting filthy dirty as they do the down and dirty. His hands scale the length of her back to her ass, as he pushes her closer to him. 

By the time they both reach climax, the two of them look like a pair of mutated Dalmatians. He laughs heartily when he spies them in the mirror and she laughs back once he moves over so she can see the damage they’ve done.

“We’ve ruined the desk,” she whispers.

“We can ruin some more if you want,” he teases, as he nips at her lip.

“I love you,” she blurts out suddenly.

“I love you more,” he whispers, as he kisses her lips softly.

She gazes up into his eyes and he knows she’s being honest with him.

“Want to go ruin the chaise next?” he asks with a smirk.

“Oh absolutely!” she declares.

They are blissfully happy for almost two years before the curse sinks its clutches in. He’s in London on business when he falls ill. He’s always been a healthy man, in almost every life he’s lived, although they haven’t been long ones due to the fact he’s so fond of war. He can’t even make it out of bed the next day. He keeps praying to whichever gods will listen, whether they be those of his origin, the gods of Ancient Greece, the gods of the Romans or the Christian God he’s come to worship for the last few centuries. His prayers go unanswered and he succumbs to his illness three days later only to wake in another life.


	11. Sacramento

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flynn's new life brings the best of times and the worst of times.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the long delay in posting this chapter. I really vacillated about posting this because it's a little sad at the end and we're already so depressed because of the pandemic. A few people have commented how the fics are getting them through these hard times, so I'm gonna go ahead and post it. Get your tissues ready for this one. Again, I promise this will all be fixed at the end of this, so stick with me.

**_Sacramento, California, 2008_ **

He never thought he’d fall for a woman besides his Lucy. Truth be told, it didn’t happen right away, but grew over a period of time. It’s not love at first sight, at least on his part, but there is something about her that’s calming to him; a balm for his battered soul. In all fairness, he’s not in the right place to fall in love again right now. The pattern of continuing to get so close to a full life with Lucy and then having it all ripped away is wearing on him. 

He feels so hopeless lately, which causes him to be careless. Its how he winds up here, hurt in a hospital. After all the years of fighting in wars, a car accident is the cause of his most recent injuries. He naively thought that his days of being wounded on the job were long gone now that he’s not actively fighting on the front lines any longer. _Guess not._

He was on his way from his office to the FBI office in San Francisco, when some drunk idiot ran a red light and plowed his car. Now, he’s laid up in the hospital with three broken ribs, a hemothorax and a fractured clavicle. 

Lorena is the nurse that puts up with his cantankerous self, as he recuperates from his injuries. She has a way about her that makes him feel at ease. She gets him to open up and let his walls down. The only other person he’s ever been like that with is Lucy. 

He can still remember their first _real_ conversation that didn’t involve him asking for more pain meds, or her yelling at him for not using the call bell, like it happened yesterday. It was just a normal day of him lying in his hospital bed, cursing in Croatian when he moves a certain way that agitates his rib pain. She walks into his room, a beaming smile on her face.

“How’s my favorite patient doing today?” she asks.

“If I’m your favorite, I’d hate to see what the rest of them are like,” he deadpans.

She takes his vitals, then checks the drainage from his chest tube. 

“You’re a piece of cake compared to some of them,” she laughs.

“I do not envy you if you have to deal with more miserable bastards than me every day.”

“Oh, stop it now. You are not a miserable bastard,” she chides.

He can tell that there is no use in arguing with her, so he tries to make a joke of it.

“Could’ve fooled me.”

She shakes her head at that and continues to reposition him in the bed. 

“What are you reading?” she inquires.

He turns the cover of the book in his hands so she can see it.

“Anna Karenina? I love that book,” she advises.

“Yeah, I figured I could empathize with Anna, since this must be what getting hit by a train feels like,” he jests.

Throughout the rest of her shift, they discuss their favorite books and movies and discover they have a great deal in common. It’s nice to have someone to talk to about something other than national security concerns or his medical condition.

When she shows up the next day, she loans him her copy of Pride and Prejudice, which he learns is her absolute favorite. Ten minutes later, he finds himself arguing with her that Darcy isn’t _that_ intense. 

“You would say that,” she teases with a wink before exiting the room.

On the day he’s finally going to be discharged, she shows up carrying a cup of Starbucks’ coffee.

“Here. Figured you’d like a change from the sludge they have here,” she states with a smile, as she hands him the cup.

It’s precisely the way he likes it. 

“How-how did you know how I took my coffee?” he asks in amazement.

“We talked about coffee the other day, remember?”

He’s slightly embarrassed that he doesn’t, but she doesn’t seem to hold it against him. 

“Maybe, we can meet up sometime and both enjoy a decent cup of coffee together,” she suggests. “I’m new here and I don’t know many people, especially ones that are willing to argue about classic literature and old movies.”

“Sounds good.”

He honestly thinks she’s just being friendly. Yet, to his surprise, right before he’s discharged from the hospital, she comes back to his room and hands him a slip of paper with her phone number on it.

“Call me, we can discuss what you think of Mr. Bingley next time,” she teases.

He has no intention of calling her. It’s not because he thinks she’s not nice or attractive, but more because he’s woefully out of practice with the opposite sex. After all, the only woman he’s loved or lusted after for the last millennia has been Lucy. 

She calls him a week later and after a little cajoling on her part, he agrees to meet her for coffee. Coffee turns into dinner and soon they find themselves meeting up and hanging out regularly. It starts with little things, but of course he’s too dense to pick up on her subtle signals. They talk for hours about everything and nothing at all. She is so much like Lucy in so many ways. Both of them possess a kindness and selflessness that most would only hope for. 

The first time he has any clue she has romantic feelings for him is when she plants a kiss on him out of nowhere. She takes his shock as disinterest, but he corrects her by pulling her back in for another kiss. 

As soon as he goes home that night though, his guilt kicks into high gear. _How could he do this to Lucy?_ It would be one thing if the kisses meant nothing, but he felt something. He felt something for someone else besides Lucy for the first time ever. He vacillates back and forth between feelings of guilt and betrayal to feelings of hope and promise. Maybe, just maybe, if he falls in love with someone else, he can break the curse and finally be with Lucy in his next life. Yet, the fact that he does feel something for another woman doesn’t bode well for the whole soulmates proposition. 

He frets over this for a while before deciding to allow himself a sliver of happiness with Lorena. He could never love her as much as he loves Lucy, but it doesn’t mean he can’t love her at all. 

One thing leads to another and the next thing he knows they’re sleeping together on a regular basis. At first, it’s a welcome distraction to his broken heart, but it becomes much deeper. He cares a great deal for her, maybe even loves her on some level, but she’ll never possess his entire heart. 

He has no idea why Lorena would love him. He’s not exactly the emotionally vulnerable type. Yet, just like Lucy, she tends to be able to reach him on a level that no one else can. She’s slowly mending the holes in his heart. It feels good to have someone to care about, to share his life with, to be intimate with on every level.

The biggest shock comes when Lorena tells him she’s pregnant. At first, he doesn’t believe it’s true, not because he thinks she’s lying about being pregnant, but because he didn’t think he could get her pregnant. Lorena is a normal, modern human being, not the banished relic of an ancient civilization like he and Lucy. 

He doesn’t dare show it to her, but he feels conflicted when she tells him. He always imagined that Lucy would be the mother of his children. Now, it appears he’s about to have a child with his best friend. 

He’s pretty sure that Lorena is telling the truth, since they spend almost all of their time together when they’re not at work. So, he tells her he’s happy about the news and asks her to marry him. He knows she’s a practicing Catholic and doesn’t want to have a child out of wedlock if she doesn’t have to.

They decide to have a small, simple wedding. He’s a little apprehensive meeting her family, since he knows how devout they are. He assumes they probably weren’t too happy that he got Lorena pregnant. Yet, to his surprise, Lorena’s family embraces and welcomes him into the fold immediately. He hadn’t realized how much he’s missed having a family of his own. He really hasn’t had one since Atlantis. The closest thing he’s had to family since then would probably be his Templar brethren. Lucy and her various iterations were also family in a way, but it was usually just the two of them. Here, he’s gaining a father-in-law, mother-in-law and brother-in-law. The latter, especially, he _really_ gets along well with and actually could see himself becoming quite close too.

He isn’t nervous per se when he arrives at the church that day, but as he stands at the altar waiting for his bride, his nerves become unbearable. He shifts his weight back and forth and has no clue what to do with his hands. It gets so bad, that his brother-in-law to be clamps a hand onto his shoulder to basically hold him in place. He really doesn’t understand why he’s so damn nervous. It’s not like this is his first wedding. In fact, it’s his fifth. But, none of his previous weddings took place in a huge cathedral like this. He was married in a church in London, but that was an Anglican church. The other three times in Atlantis, Sparta and Germania were so vastly different, it wouldn’t exactly be a fair comparison.

The wedding march begins to play on the church organ and Lorena and her father appear at the end of the aisle. He stops breathing momentarily, caught off guard by how absolutely beautiful she looks. Her father escorts her down the aisle and he cannot take his eyes off of her. It’s in that exact moment that he realizes that he does indeed love her.

His hands shake slightly when he takes hers, but as soon as they entwine their fingers he feels grounded. His hands shake again when it comes time to lift her veil, but when it comes time to kiss his bride, he doesn’t hesitate. A twinge of guilt courses through him as they part. It’s not the first time he’s felt like he’s cheating on Lucy and it probably won’t be the last.

Things are really good in the first few months. They get along swimmingly and for the first time in a long time, he’s actually happy. The days of constantly thinking about Lucy every waking minute become almost nonexistent. They anticipate the birth of their child like any normal couple, painting the nursery and buying everything baby. As Lorena’s due date approaches, he grows more and more anxious. He’s never been a father before. He knows he’ll love his baby, but he worries he’ll do something wrong and screw the child up for forever. He knows as much as his own parents tried, the scars they left will remain with him always.

**_Sacramento, California, 2009_ **

When Iris is born, he knows instantly that she _is_ his child. His heart fills with love and joy in a way he has never experienced before, even with Lucy. He’s always wanted to be a father, he just assumed it would be with Lucy. Anything else didn’t even seem like a remote possibility. Life doesn’t always work out how you think it will, but he’s never been happier to be wrong.

When he holds her for the first time, he marvels at just how small and vulnerable she is. He will protect her with everything he has, including his life if he has to. She is everything to him now. Even Lucy is a distant memory at this point, though she still creeps into his thoughts every so often. _Did she also have a child with someone else? Is this why this has happened? If they fall for someone else, does it break the cycle?_ These are the questions that run through his mind when he thinks of her. Wherever she is in this world, he hopes she’s as happy as he is.

He dives head first into being the best father he can be, volunteering for the overnight shift of Iris duty so that Lorena can try to get a little bit of sleep and recuperate from giving birth. He rocks her, changes her diapers, feeds her and hums to her even though he’s not even remotely a decent singer. He rubs her back and stomach when she has colic and kisses her forehead gently when she gets her first fever. 

He’ll never forget that night for as many lives as he winds up living before all is said and done. It’s just a typical childhood illness, yet his reaction is anything but typical. He refuses to leave her bedroom, sitting by her crib and trying to comfort her as best as he can, terrified something horrible will happen. Lorena finally makes him take a shower and get some rest in their own bed. He’s pretty sure it won’t be the last time he does something like this either. After all, does one ever stop worrying about one’s child?

As Iris grows older, they become even closer. He teaches her Croatian and never complains when she wants to have tea parties or paint his nails. He knows some fathers might balk at these types of things, but he isn’t most men. He relishes the time they spend together, whether it’s just the two of them or with Lorena as a family.

His life isn’t perfect, but it’s pretty damn close right now. He has a beautiful, loving wife, an adorably precious little girl, and a successful business. He truly couldn’t ask for anything more, except maybe another child sometime in the future. Of course, if it doesn’t happen, he’s perfectly content to dote on Iris exclusively. For now though, he’s just going to revel in this amazing feeling of love and contentment. It’s certainly not something he’s become accustomed to over the centuries.

**_San Francisco, California, 2013_ **

When Iris is four-years-old, they buy a house in San Francisco. It makes life easier for him in terms of his daily commute. It also affords more options when it comes to child care for Iris when both he and Lorena have to work. He watches Iris when Lorena takes a few nursing shifts a week, but he never minds. His daughter is his world. _How someone so small can wrap him around their little finger so easily, he still cannot grapple with._

Fatherhood suits him, he believes. He still goes through all the normal insecurities of a new parent, but it’s the best thing he’s ever done in all of his lives. He and Lorena do worry that they haven’t been able to conceive again, but he cannot tell her why he thinks that’s the case. She’d think he went crazy and could potentially take Iris and leave. He can’t lose his little girl. So, he lies instead and hopes and prays she doesn’t ask to see a fertility specialist, because he has no idea what they’d find or how he’d explain it.

**_San Francisco, California, 2014_ **

Iris is daddy’s little girl in every single way imaginable. She is sweet and shy, loves ponies and unicorns, and refuses to go to bed without her Daddy reading her a story. She has a vivid imagination and is the only one who laughs at his terrible jokes and made-up stories. He treasures the time he spends with her. She’s the first thing he misses when he has to travel for work. It physically pains him to be separated from her. He misses Lorena too, but it’s not the same aching in his heart. If he is away on business, he makes it his sacred duty to at least call before her bedtime and bring her some kind of souvenir home with him.

Then, one night, everything changes. It’s a typical evening in the Flynn household with no indication that anything is amiss. Iris has brushed her teeth and put on her pajamas and he’s already read her a bedtime story. 

“Five more minutes, Daddy, please?”

“You just had five more minutes,” he answers, as Lorena walks into the room to tuck her in.

“But, Daddy! There are monsters in the closet,” Iris protests.

He leans over to her dresser and grabs the water pistol, then flings open the closet door. He raises the water pistol and squirts inside twice.

“There. No more monsters,” he announces. 

Lorena kisses Iris on the forehead and they finally manage to get her tucked into bed. They turn off the light and shut the door, both chuckling about their daughter’s daily struggle with Mr. Sandman.

They go back downstairs and watch a little television on the couch together. A short time later, Lorena’s head is on his shoulder and she’s half-asleep. 

“Go to bed, babe. I’ll be up in a minute,” he whispers, as he kisses her forehead.

Lorena drags herself off the couch and bends down to give him a kiss on the lips. 

“Don’t be long.”

He stays downstairs for a few more minutes, then heads up to bed as well. 

A couple of hours later, Lorena thinks she hears Iris coughing. She volunteers to get up and check on her since she doesn’t have to work tomorrow. He rolls over and tries to go back to sleep. 

The next two sounds he hears are unmistakable. Gunshots. Contrary to common belief, shots from a gun with a silencer are not silent. He springs up out of bed as his military training kicks in. He grabs his gun from the gun locker, checks to make sure it’s properly loaded, then proceeds out of the master bedroom and into the hallway. He rushes towards the direction of the gunshots, which just so happens to be Iris’ room. The hallway is not very long, yet he feels as if it’s miles away at the moment. It’s almost as if everything is occurring in slow-motion.

Panic rushes throughout his body as he enters Iris’ room. The room is dark save for the small nightlight that Iris has on. The horror that he witnesses does not have time to sink in as bullets fly past his head. He ducks quickly to the side, trying to assess the situation in the instant he has to decide a course of action. He can’t see very well and he doesn’t want to risk shooting his wife and child, so he stashes his gun in his waistband. He charges at the man closest to him, using one hand to wrestle for his gun and the other to pull him into a choke hold. He grabs the man just in the nick of time to use him as a human shield as the other thug fires at them. The thug winds up shooting his own man. The flash of the bullets allow him a little bit lighter, but he wishes he didn’t see. 

He hears more men thumping up the stairs. He has two weapons now and can better defend himself, but his survival instincts are in overdrive, compelling him to get out. He fires once at the other man in the room, then shoots two rounds into the window. He fires two more rounds indiscriminately into the hallway, then dodges another shot himself. He fires back once more before launching himself out the window.

Thankfully, Iris’ room overlooks the side of the house where a huge oak tree abuts the property. As he flies out the window, he stretches out for it with both hands in a desperate, flapping motion. He barely makes contact with the tree, but somehow manages to grab onto an unsteady branch with all his might. He swings down the branch to the tree trunk, then shimmies down the tree. Bullets are still flying past his head as he hops the fence into the neighbor’s yard. He hops another fence and then another, darting in between the homes to make it harder for whoever is shooting to locate him. 

When he finally hops the fence to the corner property on the street, he’s completely out of breath. His lungs burn as bad as his feet, as he runs and runs and then runs some more. He darts down a driveway, hops another fence, gets chased by a family dog, then hops another fence and runs into the woods. His pajama pants are torn, his bare feet are bloody and his lungs burn with every single breath he takes.

He doesn’t dare stop running as his brain lingers in flight mode. Whoever killed his family could still be hunting him. He trips over an exposed tree root and falls on his hands hard. He quickly scrambles to his feet as he takes off running again. He checks behind him every so often, but doesn’t hear or see anyone following. 

He runs until he reaches a small creek. He stops for a second, then wades into the creek. If whoever is hunting him has dogs at their disposal, this is the only way he can possibly throw them off his scent. They won’t know which way he went, giving him a head start on his escape. 

He follows the creek through a wooded hollow until it branches off and splits in two. The only light he has is the moon, which darts behind clouds every few minutes. He doesn’t know where he’s going, but he knows if he stops his mind will try to grapple with the atrocity that has just befallen him. He doesn’t think he can handle that right now. Once he makes it somewhere safe, he can crumble into a thousand pieces. If he does that while he’s still on the run, he’ll be caught in no time.

The woods begin to thin out and he notices there’s a residential neighborhood a few hundred yards ahead. He slows down to a jog and surveys the area before moving into the shadows of the trees lining the street. His best bet would be to steal a car, yet he has no clue where he’s going to go. He doesn’t know who he’s hiding from, so how can he figure out where it’s safe to lay low? 

He finds a Jeep on the street that’s unlocked. It takes him a while to hotwire the vehicle, as his hands are still shaky and his chest is heaving for air. He speeds down the street, then slows down and drives normally. He needs to figure out where he’s going to go and he needs to make sure he does it as stealthily as possible. 

He has no money, no phone, no shoes and his pajamas are dirty, torn and bloody. He’s still actively in a mode of panic, allowing his brain to function on auto-pilot. He drives to San Francisco’s Mission District and finds a darkened alleyway to stash his stolen vehicle. He watches the locals pour in and out of the trendy restaurants and bars for a few minutes, until he spots a potential target. 

He loathes himself for what he’s about to do, but his survival depends on it. He stalks the drunk man halfway down the block, darting in and out of the shadows with precision. As soon as the man reaches his vehicle, he springs into action and grabs the man from behind in a chokehold. The drunk man slumps to the ground a minute later. He quickly takes the man’s wallet, jacket and shoes and sprints down the nearest side alley. He steals another car and heads back out of the Mission District. 

He keeps driving until he reaches the marina. He stashes stolen car number two, then finds an unattended boat and crawls aboard. He slumps down into the cabin, drawing his knees to his chest and falls apart. He cannot fathom what type of monsters would kill an innocent five-year old child and her mother. He cannot fathom who would want to kill _him_ either. He’s only a security analyst. He identifies risk, he doesn’t actively confront it. Even when he worked for the NSA, he was an intelligence asset. It mostly entailed surveillance and analysis of patterns and codes. It’s not like he was freaking James Bond or Jason Bourne. 

There were a few times he had to actively participate in a few ops, but he can’t see how these men would be able to find out his real name, let alone where he lives. He may not have been Bond or Bourne, but he does know a thing or two about manhunts. He’s certain that the murderers were professionals, which means they know what they’re doing. They’ll frame him for his wife and daughters’ murders without a doubt. It will be easier to catch him if he’s wanted for a crime. He needs to get out of the country as soon as possible. He won’t be able to drive across the border or get on a plane. That’s the first place these people will look for him. 

He lays low in the marina for the next two days, stealing food and clothing from other boats. It’s winter, so his options are not plentiful. He drinks so much the first night, he starts to think of ending his life. Rage and despair course through his veins simultaneously and the images of Iris and Lorena’s lifeless bodies haunt his every waking second. He cries, yells and drinks and repeats this process again and again and again.


	12. São Paulo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flynn goes on the run, then meets a familiar face in a bar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are some similarities and some differences from that awful finale included in here. In other words, thankfully it's not canon! 
> 
> Please also check out the end notes for a comment related to one of the aforementioned changes.

It’s been two days since his wife and daughter were murdered. He’s been on the run ever since, hiding in dark alleys and unattended boats. He doesn’t know for certain who killed his family, but he has a few hunches. That in and of itself is problematic when one is on the run. _How can you hide and stay off the grid when you’re not sure who you’re hiding from?_

He makes it out of California as a stowaway on a cargo freighter bound for Panama. It doesn’t offer much protection from whoever is after him, but at least Panama is a non-extradition country and that’s one less thing he’ll need to worry about.

He has to resort to pickpocketing to get enough money to find a place to stay and grab a bite to eat. He finds a cheap hotel to stay at, one that any tourist wouldn’t be caught dead in unless they were up to some nefarious act. He also buys a burner phone and makes contact with a friend of his at the CIA. As he suspected, he’s being blamed for Lorena and Iris’ murders. It makes perfect sense to him, because he’ll be easier for them to find if he’s a wanted fugitive. He asks his friend to see what he can find out and tells him his three prime suspects. His prime suspect is this shadow organization called Rittenhouse. The second one is Dmitri Larionov, a Russian arms dealer he helped take down a few years ago. The last, and most unlikely culprit, is Marko Milošević, a slimy, Serbian human trafficker he apprehended personally right before Iris was born.

He hangs around in Panama for another two days until Agent Black calls him back. Agent Black is acting squirrely and he knows for sure that Rittenhouse is responsible. Larionov and Milošević are definitely not Boy Scouts, but they wouldn’t scare a formidable operative like Agent Black. 

He quickly ends the call and ditches the phone. He needs to get out of Panama pronto. His location could be compromised. 

He bribes his way onto a fishing vessel headed for Bogota, Columbia. From there, he steals a car and drives to Quito, Ecuador. He sleeps in the car that night, then starts his long drive to Lima, Peru the next day.

He drives for the next twenty-eight hours, stopping as few times as possible along the way to stretch his legs, use the restroom, and grab a quick bite to eat. The monotonous drive to Lima is mind-numbing, but it’s preferable to the other thoughts swirling around his brain. If he’s busy concentrating on the road ahead because he’s utterly exhausted, he won’t think about his wife and daughter’s lifeless bodies lying on the bedroom floor.

He needs to keep going, even if Mr. Sandman is calling. He won’t feel completely safe or comfortable probably ever again, but Lima is a large enough city that he can disappear for a while. 

As soon as he closes the door of his crappy motel room, his grief overwhelms him. He slumps down onto the edge of the bed and removes the bottle of tequila he bought ten minutes ago.

The pain and agony of loss consume him entirely. The emptiness is unbearable. _What he wouldn’t give to hear Iris’ little laugh or feel Lorena’s lips on his own one more time._

Then the anger and rage take over and he vows to make those Rittenhouse bastards pay. He has no idea how, but make them pay he will. He has connections that could prove useful, but after the episode with Agent Black, he doesn’t know who he can and can’t trust. _Better to go it alone for now._

He drinks himself into a stupor and passes out. It’s the only way he can get any sleep without the nightmares waking him every hour. Sometimes, no matter how much he drinks, the nightmares come anyway. 

He leaves Lima behind the next afternoon and makes the six-plus hour drive to Nazca. As much as he loves history, he’s not here to visit the strange lines and shapes in the desert. He needs to refuel. It’s as good a place as any to do it considering the hordes of tourists that flock to the area. He’s also incredibly paranoid and wants to switch this car out for another. 

Stopping in Nazca turns out to be a horrible idea. As he looks for another vehicle to steal, he spies a little girl with her parents about the same age as Iris. Tears fill his eyes immediately as he rushes into an alley. He can’t hold it back. He props himself up against the wall, but his legs slide out from under him. 

He doesn’t know how long he stays there crying, but it must have been a significant length of time. The sun is now low in the sky and he has a long drive ahead of him. Now, he has to drive in the waning light. He’s still quite upset, but that’s not going to change until he rids this world of the scourge named Rittenhouse. 

He compels himself to get a move on, steals another car and heads south. It’s another seventeen or so hours to La Paz, Bolivia. He only stays there long enough to drink himself to sleep and refuel. He honestly doesn’t remember eating while he was there. It’s not like he has an appetite anyway, unless you count his appetite for revenge. 

The hours and days pass by in a blur. The more he drinks, the more he contemplates committing suicide and just ending his misery. He misses his girls terribly and it’s not like he has Lucy to heal and love him. If he can’t see his girls in the afterlife, at least he’ll eventually see Lucy in one of his next lives. 

He has no recollection how he makes it from La Paz to Asunción, Paraguay. His first instinct is to continue south, perhaps hide out in Argentina somewhere. But, there’s a nagging thought in his brain to head to Brazil instead. He doesn’t know why, nor can he explain it in the least. _Brazil it is then_. He’ll have access to the coast there and he can still decide to go south later if he wants.

**_São Paulo, Brazil, December 24, 2014_ **

The next morning he sets out for Brazil, driving almost the entire day, until he arrives that evening in São Paulo. After securing a room for the night, he heads out fully intending to drink himself to oblivion. 

He finds an out-of-the-way dive bar and takes a seat. He’s grief-stricken, numb and closer to putting a bullet through his brain than he ever has been. But, he has to stop these beasts. He has to avenge his family. He just has to. It’s his fault they were killed in the first place.

Yet, he _still_ has no idea how to do any of it. Rittenhouse has taken everything from him. They’ve labeled him a murdered and made him a wanted fugitive. _How is he going to go after them if he has to live on the run? How can he possibly put a dent in Rittenhouse’s operation? He’s only one man._ _One man alone cannot do this._ He needs help, but he can’t trust anyone. He’ll need to recruit and cultivate new contacts, new assets. _But, how can he be sure these new assets aren’t compromised or working for Rittenhouse already?_

He feels as if the task before him is impossible. He should just end this all now. Maybe, just maybe, he won’t wake up in another life. Maybe, this time he’ll go to the afterlife and reunite with his family. It’s a chance he’s willing to take. He downs his second drink of the night and orders a third.

He can’t remember the last time he shaved, showered or ate, unless you count bar peanuts and stale pretzels as actual food. Grief is consuming his soul, shredding him into a thousand shards. The alcohol isn’t helping anything except to blur reality. If he doesn’t blur reality, he’ll break completely. He’s sure of that.

He stares straight ahead at nothing for a while, then down at the bar and his half-finished drink. The smoke-filled bar is stinging his already red-rimmed eyes, and thoughts of ending it all and either reuniting with his family or starting over again creep back into his brain. 

He becomes vaguely aware of someone taking the seat next to him, but he doesn’t pay them any mind. If it’s an assassin that Rittenhouse sent, he hopes they get this over with quickly.

He hears a voice ask him in English if the seat is taken. At first, he thinks he’s hallucinating, but then his brain senses the presence of movement next to him. He mumbles back in accented broken Portuguese that he doesn’t understand English.

“I…know you speak English…Flynn.”

He barely registers his name being spoken aloud initially, but then his survival instincts kick in once again. He snaps his head and looks at her.

“How do you know my name?”

He doesn’t register that it’s her. His brain is swimming in a fog of tequila and whiskey. He is only cognizant that he’s speaking to a woman.

“Don’t worry, I’m a friend. I mean, I will be a friend. I know everything about you,” she states.

He’s still staring at her as if she’s here to finish off the job.

“What do you want?” he barks.

“I know about-about Rittenhouse. I know what they did to your family; your wife, Lorena and your daughter, Iris.”

“You know nothing! Because…if you did, you’d know I don’t ever want to hear that name again for the short amount of time I have left,” he growls.

She tries to put a hand on his forearm, but he snatches it back with force.

“Go away,” he orders with a wave of his hand.

He doesn’t bother looking up, just swirls the liquid around in his glass in a hypnotic circular rhythm. 

“Flynn, I-I know how hard this is for you. I lost my sister to Rittenhouse,” she explains.

He doesn’t care about her problems or losses right now. He just doesn’t. He swallows the remainder of his third drink and slams the glass onto the bar.

“I _said_ go away!”

“I’m not going to do that. You never left me to my own devices when I hit rock bottom. It’s about time I repay that favor,” she states in a slow, calm tone.

“Stay away from me. I don’t want you here. You tried. You can leave here with a clear conscience,” he snaps back.

Suddenly, he rises from the barstool and stumbles to his feet. If her goal is to get him out of this bar and into the open so that Rittenhouse can kill him, she’s about to get a job well done pat on the back then. He pushes the barstool out of his way, knocking it to the floor. He teeters as he attempts to get his feet to cooperate as he closes in on the door. She runs after him, grabbing his forearm in the process. 

“Flynn, please. I don’t have a lot of time and I need you to hear me out,” she pleads.

“You’re right. Neither one of us have a lot of time,” he roars back as he pushes the door to the bar open and walks out into the evening air.

He somehow makes it to the end of the block before realizing she’s still trailing behind him like a puppy that lost its owner. He stops short, causing her to slam into his back, stunning them both. 

“Look, I know this all sounds crazy, but I can help you. I-I _need_ to help you,” she begs.

He glances around, trying to spot the source or direction of the inevitable bullet he truly believes is coming at any minute. 

“Why don’t you tell them to get it over with? I’m standing right here in the open,” he suggests.

Her brow wrinkles and she stares back at him with an expression of utter confusion. He’s about to literally spell it out for her when she apparently gets the gist of what he’s saying.

“Oh, no! God, no! Flynn, I’m not here to kill you, I’m here to help you.”

“I don’t need your help,” he barks back, as he begins walking towards the dilapidated room he’s renting.

“What if I can help you get revenge? What if I know where to hit them where it will hurt?” she calls out after him.

He stops again, but does not turn around. Tears begin to well up in his eyes. It’s nothing more than a cruel impossibility. One person could not possibly bring them down. Rage builds inside of him once again, yet there’s something in her voice that gives him pause. He’s not quite sure what it is. He knows he’s drunk and not thinking clearly even when he’s sober these days. Normally, he could assess someone in the blink of an eye. He was trained that way. You can’t really “undo” that sort of innate ability, but he can’t trust his own judgment right now. As much as he hates to admit it, he’s very vulnerable.

He has no idea what force is allowing him to even contemplate listening to her. He knows better. If something sounds too good to be true, it is. 

He ignores her and continues to stumble back to his room. He’s just incapable of dealing with this right now. _Hopefully, she just goes away_. 

He reaches the door to the place he’s staying at and turns around when he senses someone behind him.

“You’re still here?” he groans.

“I lost someone I love too. More than one. We can help each other. I just need you to hear me out for a little bit and to keep an open mind.”

“Fine,” he snarls. “If that’s what it takes to get rid of you.”

He opens a rusty, old door to a second floor apartment. 

“In here.”

She looks slightly unsettled by this proposition, but steps inside cautiously. They climb the stairs to his room and he fumbles a while with the key trying to get the lock open.

“I can help if you let me,” she whispers.

“I got it!” he yells back.

He is finally successful at unlocking the door. He bids her entry, then shuts the door behind them. It’s not much at all, but he doesn’t plan on staying here too long one way or another. He gestures for her to sit on the couch while he takes a seat on the bed.

“Talk,” he commands.

“You were right about everything. Rittenhouse is an evil, white-supremacist, misogynistic cult bent on reshaping the world to their specifications.”

“You’re not telling me anything I don’t already know. Tic-toc lady,” he hisses, as he taps his watch impatiently.

She gets up from the couch and sits next to him on the bed, placing her hand atop his.

“Lucy. My name is Lucy. Lucy Preston.”

He’s not sure if it’s her name or her touch that finally gets him to really, truly, see her. _How did he not see her? What has become of him that he did not recognize the one woman whom he has loved for a thousand lifetimes?_ His Lucy, his angel, shows up in his life when he’s at his darkest and lowest point.

There is something different about her though, something he can’t quite place just yet. She’s wearing a burgundy dress with polka dots. _She always did look good in that color. In fact, it’s his favorite color on her_. Her beauty is distracting him. _At least that hasn’t changed_. The only words that manage to fall from his lips are her name. 

“This is going to sound completely insane, but I know everything about you because this isn’t the first time we’ve met,” she says, as she cups his face in her palm.

 _Wait, does she remember one of their past lives together?_ The fact that she’s looking at him and touching him with so much tenderness signifies there’s more than a casual acquaintance between them.

“What do you mean?” he asks.

He can’t think of anything else to say, but whatever she’s about to tell him he’ll believe whole-heartedly. It’s Lucy after all.

“Well, it’s technically the first time you’ve met me, but I’ve met you before. I’m from the year 2024.”

“I’m sorry, I know I’m drunk, but I thought you just said you were from 2024,” he chuckles.

“I am.”

“That’s not possible.”

“It is when you have a time machine.”

“I’m drunk, not stupid,” he states dismissively.

_Oh, come on. Does she really think he’s that gullible?_

“It’s real, I swear,” she answers.

“A time machine? Lucy, you seem like a rational person, but this is completely bat-shit crazy,” he points out.

“Okay, if I’m crazy then how would I know that your half-brother died from an allergic reaction to a bee sting before you were even born and that you’re mother always looked sad?”

He has only ever told one person about that. He told Lorena and she wouldn’t tell anyone about that last part. 

“How…”

“Connor Mason built a time machine and Rittenhouse is trying to use it to destroy history as we know it,” she explains.

“Connor Mason, the tech guy?”

She nods her head in affirmation. He lets that information sink into his inebriated brain. It takes him longer than usual, but eventually something clicks and the puzzles pieces start to come together. 

“The money,” he mumbles. “That’s where all the money was going. I flagged the financial transactions.”

“You did and it put you on Rittenhouse’s radar.”

“And got my family killed.”

His voice croaks as he says it. It’s a bitter pill to swallow having confirmation from someone else that his actions were the cause of his family’s murders. 

“And, I’m giving you the chance to avenge them,” Lucy reminds him. “You’re going to stop them once and for all. But…you’ll need my help,” she states, as she pulls a leather-bound book from her purse.

Her hand brushes his when she gives him the book, sending chills down his spine. She absentmindedly rubs circles with her thumb on his hand and he closes his eyes. It’s been so long since he’s felt her touch. God, he misses her. If she could stay here with him, he might be able to see his way through this. But, she’s from the future (if she’s to be believed about that), and he’s guessing she needs to get back to where she came from. 

“What’s this?” he asks as he holds the book in his hand.

“My journal. You’ll need that in order to defeat Rittenhouse. 

“How the hell are your _innermost feelings_ supposed to help me beat them exactly?” he asks with a heap of sarcasm.

He doesn’t mean to be dismissive of her, but he’s always been a skeptical man to begin with. Plus, his intelligence training has only made that aspect of his personality even worse. 

“Because I recorded information about our missions. In the future, we fight Rittenhouse together. The problem is, in my reality, we’re now losing that fight. They have so much power, so much control over-well, basically _everything_!” she exclaims as she throws her hands into the air.

“If that’s true, why didn’t my future self come back with you then?” he questions.

“It’s dangerous to travel to a place where you already exist. The closer you are in proximity to your past self, the worse the symptoms are and the faster you feel the effects. It would’ve been far too much for either of you,” she answers.

There’s something else in her voice that tells him she’s holding back. It’s almost as if there’s something she can’t or doesn’t want to tell him about what happens to them in the future. 

“I won’t lie. This isn’t going to be easy. When you meet the younger version of me, I won’t believe you at first. But, you have to keep fighting, keep trying to reach me. I’ll come around. We’re going to be quite the team one day,” she advises with a huge smile.

It finally dawns on him after all this time-travel talk that Lucy _looks_ older. She’s still as beautiful as ever, but older. That’s what he wasn’t able to place earlier. It’s also another reason he knows she’s telling the truth, although he can’t tell her that. Knowing some of the innovative inventions that they had access to in Atlantis all those years ago, he’s honestly surprised no one has invented one earlier. Then again, he also remembers the idiocy of the Dark Ages, and reconsiders his earlier hypothesis. 

Suddenly, she grabs a hold of her head and shakes it like she’s trying to clear out cobwebs or something.

“Are you alright?” he asks trying to hide the panicky concern in his voice.

He desperately wants to tell her everything, but she’s already showing symptoms apparently, and he can’t risk losing her all over again.

“I’ll be fine. I need to get going. Staying too long in my own timeline is…detrimental and dangerous,” she advises.

She pats his hand and stands to leave, then turns back to him. 

“You are going to have to sacrifice everything for a cause that almost no one will believe in. The world will think that you’re a terrorist and a traitor. Hell, even I’m going to think that at first.”

“No, no, no.”

“Listen to me, you aren’t any of those things. And, you’re going to think that you lost your humanity, but you didn’t and you never will. You’re a hero, Garcia Flynn. Maybe, the greatest hero of us all,” she whispers softly.

He doesn’t feel like a hero, only a failure in every sense of the word. She bends down towards him as her eyes begin to water. She gets even closer to him and he momentarily forgets where he is and who he is with. She places a kiss to his cheek and he turns and captures her lips. He didn’t mean to kiss her, but his instincts and memories took over. Her lips are a balm to his soul right now, dulling the overwhelming heartache he feels. What’s even more surprising, is the fact that she doesn’t seem to mind his lips on hers. In fact, she kisses him again, this time even more passionately. He feels bad since he hasn’t shaved in days, but she’s not complaining. When she pulls back, it’s as if someone has taken a sledgehammer to his heart. She backs up towards the door, her eyes never leaving his. He can’t help but notice the tears welling in her eyes. She seems conflicted about leaving and that tugs at his heart in dangerous ways. 

“Remember, you’re not alone in this fight. There will be others…and I will come around,” she instructs.

Finally, she turns and closes the door behind her.

He misses her already and she’s only been gone for under a minute. His eyes land on the bottle of whiskey that he had for breakfast. The urge to down the rest of it this very second builds and then subsides, as his hand finds the journal Lucy left for him. He opens the book to a random page and starts reading.

_“Was it preordained to bring Flynn and I together? I’ll never know. I sat wrapped in a blanket lost in thought and then Flynn kissed me. And, finally the pain I felt for so long dissipated. So, I kissed him back…”_

He slams the journal shut, gets up and paces around the room. His eyes inevitably wander back to the journal on the edge of his bed. He resists the temptation for a few more minutes, then crosses the room, picks up the journal and sits down on the couch. He opens the journal and begins to read the first page. He doesn’t put it down until he’s read it entirely. All he knows now is that he has a great deal of preparation in store for him. And, even though he’s going to steal a time machine, he has no time to waste.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know in canon it was 2023 when Lucy traveled back to meet Flynn, but for this story I changed it to be six years instead. There is a reason for it that will become apparent towards the end of this fic. Unfortunately, that's all I can say about it right now.


	13. The Hindenburg

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flynn steals a time machine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're now entering the (mostly) canon compliant section for a little while. Have no fear, there will be smut again once I get to the fix it part of the fic. In the meantime, enjoy the story you know and love, along with a few extra surprises I added in.

**_May 6, 1937, Manchester Township, NJ, Naval Station Lakehurst_ **

He’s just stolen a time machine. A freaking time machine. It took him two years to plan it, but he’s finally done it. He has half a mind to direct Anthony to take him back to Atlantis, grab Lucy and take the hell off to whenever or wherever they want. Yet, the raging inferno of revenge burns brightly within him, fueling his fire with a never-ending fuel source. 

If this journal is correct, he knows he’ll see Lucy today. He initially thought the prospect would excite him as much as it has in the past, but the specters of Lorena and Iris surround his soul. They demand justice, but he demands blood. 

Still, he keeps his eye out for Lucy, as he finagles his way onto the work crew responsible for mooring the Hindenburg. He’s trying to keep his head down and make sure the men don’t drag the ropes through the mud, but catches himself scanning the gathering crowd every few minutes. He really needs to focus. Completing this mission is paramount and if this journal is accurate, he need not worry about running into Lucy. It _will_ happen, he just needs to have some patience. 

The Hindenburg is almost ready for its landing when he spots her in the crowd. She is a vision in her little beret, checkered coat and red skirt, that sparkle alive and dancing in her eyes. The last time he saw her, he was in no position to appreciate being in her orbit, the grief of losing Lorena and Iris still too fresh. Now, he can gaze at her gorgeousness from across the air field, appreciating every curve and line with proper reverence and devotion. 

She finally spots him and he averts his eyes, but not very quickly. He _wants_ her to see him. It’s all part of his plan. He knows this version of her does not know him. He also knows she won’t believe him at first. _“You have to keep fighting, keep trying to reach me. I’ll come around. We’re going to be quite the team one day.”_ Her words echo in his head over and over again, as if she has written them down in the journal as well. It doesn’t mean he can’t start trying today, though. 

After the Hindenburg lands, he slowly saunters into one of the adjacent hangars, making sure Lucy gets a good glimpse before disappearing inside. He scurries off quickly into the shadows, climbing into his hidden cat-bird hideout where Stiv is already waiting. As he predicts, curiosity gets the better of her and she follows him.

He radios his man to grab her, (gently mind you), so that the two of them might have a word. The man, whom he thinks is named Joe, (he can’t remember and honestly doesn’t really care), takes his orders literally and manhandles Lucy. He fumes internally, not wanting to play his hand in front of his men. No one can know how much she means to him; especially Rittenhouse. 

One of the guys Lucy brought with him shoots and kills Joe. He can’t see his face very well, but he can see the face of the other man with her. The journal talks about her traveling with two men: Wyatt and Rufus. How he never put two and two together before now, he’s not quite sure. Rufus, he knows. He was Rufustus in Atlantis and Rudy in Nassau. They were friends, good friends, but this Rufus doesn’t know him either. He won’t remember their adventures on the high seas or watching the bull jumping at the Atlantean Games together. He’ll think he’s a terrorist, just like Lucy does. 

Having two people he cares a great deal about working for Rittenhouse, albeit unwittingly, is unnerving to say the least. It also makes what he’s about to do even more difficult. He needs to get the team out of the way without hurting them so he can plant the bomb. Having his men try to grab them again will take time and draw too much unwanted attention. So, he’s going to have to improvise.

It doesn’t take long for inspiration to hit him. As Stiv informs him that a police officer is patrolling the area where they’re currently hiding, the idea presents itself. He orders Stiv to call in an anonymous tip about a dead body in the hangar.

A short time later, he peers through his binoculars and watches the team be taken into custody. He just hopes Lucy and Rufus don’t have to spend too much time in jail. He’ll feel guilty about that later, just not right now. Right now, he has a bomb to plant.

It proves to be easy enough for him and Stiv to sneak onto the ship. It still amazes him how lax security is in the past. If he was attempting to carry out this mission in the present, it would be a thousand times harder. 

Once they’re aboard the ship, they steal two waiter uniforms and dip into a side room to quickly change. He’s prepared for this meticulously. He has studied all the ship’s schematics and come up with multiple contingencies in case something _does_ go wrong. 

They wind their way through the ship to the galley. He extends his arm to Stiv, taking the explosive device carefully. After securing the bomb in the galley, the two men sneak back into the hallway. They rush down the corridor, knowing they have only a limited amount of time to get off the ship. The bomb is rigged to go off a few minutes after takeoff, but they need to make sure they’re off the ship before it does take off. 

As they turn a corner, he spies a woman coming towards them. He slows his pace and Stiv follows suit. He recognizes this woman instantly. She’s the same female journalist he saw in the tavern and on the airfield. 

“Excuse me,” he states hurriedly, as he passes her by.

He can tell from her facial expression that she recognizes him. He doesn’t glance back, but quickens his pace slightly. They creep off the ship, run through the shadows of the airfield and hunker down in the hangar. 

As the time nears, they climb into the car and wait for the bomb to detonate. He stares up at the Hindenburg, glancing ever so often at his watch before returning his eyes to the ship. This mission has to succeed. It just has to. 

Suddenly, the Hindenburg begins to descend back towards the airfield. The siren blares as the ground crew move to secure the mooring ropes.

“The ship is landing. Something’s wrong,” he mutters.

The next thing he knows, Stiv is out of the car and climbing up the ropes to find out what’s going on. He admires the man’s commitment to their cause, but he also really can’t afford to lose him right now. He needs to have competent men if he’s going to rid this world of Rittenhouse and bring his family back. And, good, competent men don’t just grow on trees.

He watches in horror as the bomb explodes. Stiv never reappears down the ropes. The Hindenburg bursts into flames, plummeting the ship nose first towards the ground. The screams of the wounded and dying assault his ears, as he stares into the blazing inferno. It sickens him that he’s just killed a lot of innocent people, but war is hell. He didn’t start this, Rittenhouse did. People are running from the wreckage, smoke and flames billowing out into the night sky. Chaos surrounds him, yet he remains calm. He searches the airfield in vain for Stiv, then decides he better leave as soon as possible. Unfortunately, Stiv is lost.

He’s just about to make his getaway, when his heart stops. _Lucy._ She’s sprinting away from the flames, helping the fallen along the way. He smiles at the sight. _She’s_ _always willing to help everyone, even at her own peril._

He moves stealthily towards her. The journal said this would happen, but he wasn’t sure it would come to pass. Just because it happened before, according to her future-self, doesn’t mean it will happen that exact way again. Lucy’s journal is disjointed. Details are missing throughout, so it’s more of a guideline than a hard and fast rule book.

He glances up and spies her running in his direction. He stops where he is, as she turns back to the flames momentarily, before almost slamming directly into him. She stops short as their eyes meet. Recognition crosses her face in horror, as she gasps loudly. Fear and panic cause her body to tense, and her eyes grow wide as she scans her surroundings. The last thing he wants to do is scare her, but he needs to talk to her, needs to try to convince her that she’s fighting on the wrong side. 

“It’s time we talked. You need to understand _who_ and what you’re dealing with,” he blurts out to her.

“I understand that you’re a psychopath trying to burn everything to the ground!” she yells back at him.

It stings him when she calls him a psychopath. A psychopath would be reveling in what he’s doing. He’s struggling mightily. He doesn’t want to do any of this, but it’s a necessary evil. He counts to three in his head, trying desperately to maintain his cool. 

“Well, that depends on your point of view, Lucy.”

He watches her intently as the shock spreads over her face. He _definitely_ has her attention now.

“How do you know my name?”

“I know everything about you. Your father’s dead. You think you’re meant to follow in your mother’s footsteps, but…you don’t really want to. You want to know how I know?” he asks, as he stares closely at her. 

He can tell from the fact that she’s still standing in front of him that he’s piqued her interest. He reaches into the inside pocket of his brown jacket and pulls out a worn, black, leather bound book. He holds the journal so that Lucy can see it and opens it up to a random page. As he glances down, he sees it’s one of her entries on the space race and moon landing. On the left side of the page, she recounts the major points of the moon landing, including the names of the crew members aboard. The right side of the page features a sketch of the actual moon landing, with the planting of the American flag.

“That’s my handwriting, but I didn’t write that,” she declares with a slight shake of her head. 

He can’t help but smirk in response.

“Not yet, but you will. I know what you’re really meant to be Lucy and it isn’t a teacher,” he advises.

Instead of piquing her interest again, he discovers he’s done just the opposite. Anger flashes in her eyes.

“Why would I believe anything from someone who killed their own family?” she barks.

It takes all his strength to keep his composure. _Of course they told her that. Anything to make him look like the bad guy. Lucy would never have agreed to this otherwise._

He takes a breath, choosing to ignore her question and get down to the nitty gritty of the matter.

“Just ask them why they really chose you for this mission. And, ask them what Rittenhouse is,” he informs her.

“Rittenhouse?”

Movement from over Lucy’s shoulder garners his attention. He spots the gun the man is pointing in his direction and pulls his weapon as well. Instinctually, he grabs Lucy and uses her as a human shield. He hears her gasp in fear as he holds his arm around her neck. He’s kicking himself instantly for doing it, but self-preservation is the way of the soldier. 

He remembers reading about this in the journal, but he hadn’t realized who the man _truly_ was until he was face to face with him. Lucy only mentioned the name Wyatt. But, he had another name long ago, a name Flynn will never forget. Of course, Lucy wouldn’t remember him from Rome or London, but he certainly does. He’s certain that if she did remember him, she wouldn’t be caught dead anywhere near the man. He was a nasty, selfish, petulant man in Rome. He treated Lucy like a piece of property, a decoration for him to show off and then abuse for his own self-gratification. There’s also the whole trying to buy him while he was enslaved and the fact he got the better of him while he was unarmed. He’s confident that if the coward were ever to face him when the odds were even, he would come out on top. 

Then, there’s London. He was the one who came out on top during that skirmish. Wyatt tried to rely on his military standing and charming personality, but Flynn outsmarted him quite easily. He’d already won Lucy over with his secret admirer letters, and her father was easy enough to convince once he saw the business opportunities the match would bring. 

“I know for a fact that you’re not gonna shoot,” he taunts.

“Wyatt!” Lucy shrieks.

To his utter shock, the little shit pulls the damn trigger. The bullet grazes his right clavicle. He squeezes off a shot in Wyatt’s direction a second later. Reluctantly, he releases Lucy and flees across the airfield. He sprints back to the hangar where his car awaits, pressing his hand to his shoulder in an attempt to stop the bleeding. He knows for sure that things in the journal are happening differently now. In the journal, Lucy wrote about how Wyatt was terrified he’d accidentally shoot her, so he never took the shot. If that idiot had been a couple of inches to the right…

He shudders to think about what he would’ve done. He needs Lucy to help him bring down Rittenhouse once and for all. He’ll be damned if he lets this asshole ruin it for him; not when his family is on the line. 

He makes it back to the hangar and jumps into the car as his men speed off. He’s still bleeding, but he’s going to have to wait until he’s back in the present to take care of the wound properly. He’ll just add it to the collection of scars he’s accumulated in his many lifetimes. One day, he’ll make sure to repay the favor to Wyatt. 

The drive back to the Mothership feels like it’s an eternity. All he wants to do is get home, take care of his wound and plan the next mission. He’s grateful that he had the opportunity to speak to Lucy. He wished he’d had more time before they were so rudely interrupted. At least he got her attention. He’ll just keep working on her until she sees the light. The journal talks about how she will realize this fact someday and they will become quite the team. He just hopes it’s sooner rather than later if he’s going to have to deal with Wyatt in the interim.

When he arrives at the Mothership, Anthony is freaking out over his wound and the fact that they’ve already lost Stiv and it’s only the first mission. He rolls his eyes in response and straps himself into his seat.

“Just get us home, Anthony.”

As he waits for Anthony to complete the jump sequence, his mind drifts back to Lucy. _He could’ve handled that a thousand times better._ He was proud of her for not running away immediately, though. She gave it right back to him. It was the first time in hundreds of years that he saw that fire in her eyes. It’s the same fire that burned so brightly back in Atlantis, the fire that consumed his mind, body and soul. What he wouldn’t give to see that in her eyes every single time he looks at her.

Then the guilt washes over him like a tidal wave. Lucy’s not the reason he’s doing this. Lorena and Iris are. They’re innocent victims caught up in a war they had no part in. Lucy is only a future ally in the fight. It would be different if this all happened before he had Iris, but it didn’t. In all of the lifetimes Lucy and he have shared, they were never able to conceive a child. Iris was a miracle. She deserves to grow up and have a life of her own, children of her own. He’ll do whatever he needs to in order to give her that chance.

When he arrives back in the present, he goes back to his room to tend to his wound. He removes his brown jacket and his black turtleneck and inspects the damage. His white tank undershirt is stained with blood at the edge and the gash is deep enough that he will definitely need stitches. He stands up from the chair and pulls out the first aid kit that’s sitting on one of the shelves in the warehouse office he’s converted into his hideout. He grabs the suture kit, opens it and rips open an alcohol prep pad. He wipes the excess blood with some gauze, then wipes the alcohol pad over the wound, hissing slightly at the sting. The wound is in an awkward spot and it’s going to be tricky to close it himself. He doesn’t want to ask any of his men to help him, though. He’s the boss and can’t afford to show any weakness in front of them. He needs to rule with an iron fist if he’s going to maintain discipline on these missions.

He threads the needle into his skin, moving as deftly as he can. It takes him longer than it normally would due to the awkward position, but he ties off the sutures once he finishes. Next, he opens a Betadine pad and wipes down the wound to prevent any infection from starting. 

He slumps back down into his chair, staring blankly at the used and bloody medical supplies littering the desk. He knew seeing Lucy again would tug at his heart strings, but he thought his rage and grief would outweigh it. Now, he’s not so sure. He loves her so much and he needs to come to grips with that. It will never change. But, it also doesn’t change his love for Lorena and Iris and his vow to avenge them and bring them back. 

He spies the journal out of the corner of his eye and picks it up gingerly. This book is now his most prized possession and his lifeline. He thumbs through the pages and opens the journal. His thumbs caress the red and beige clippings attached with a paperclip, as he reads over Lucy’s words again. In some ways, he feels like he has an unfair advantage in this lifetime when it comes to her. He already knows how this iteration works, feels and thinks. In every other lifetime, he’s had to get to know those things by different means. Sometimes, he just had to spend quality time with her, sometimes, he had to pry it out of her. 

He does need this advantage, though, if he’s going to get her to come over to his side. He flips up the clippings and reveals the bottom of the right hand side of the page. Another clipping is glued to the page baring the words, “That’s one small step for man, and one giant leap for mankind.” Another one of Lucy’s American flag doodles graces the page right below it. She truly is talented. He can’t draw much at all. _Guess those sketching genes skipped over him._

He flips to another page, but stops short once he realizes which entry it is. 

_“Was it preordained to bring Flynn and I together? I’ll never know. I sat wrapped in a blanket lost in thought and then Flynn kissed me. And, finally the pain I felt for so long dissipated. So, I kissed him back…”_

Why his fingers seem to find this entry more than any other, he will never know. Sometimes, it upsets him to read this passage and other times he basks in the memories of their kisses. 

A knock at his door a moment later disturbs his daydream. Karl stick his head in a moment later, even before Flynn can bid him entry.

“Come in, by all means,” he states with dripping sarcasm as he waves his arm.

“Boss, Anthony says the ship will be ready to go in a few hours.”

“Great. Let me know when it’s fully charged,” he informs Karl.

Karl nods his head and shuts the door as he exits. He runs his fingers down the page of the journal, then slams it closed. He needs to prepare for his next mission. This one will be one of his most difficult and he needs to have a clear head, if possible. Unfortunately, his head continues to replay images of Lucy standing before him with the flaming wreckage behind her. It looks like it’s going to be harder than he thought to maintain a clear head after all.


	14. Lincoln

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flynn takes his second trip back to the past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to let you all know that I won't be doing every episode of Timeless, only the ones with a heavy Garcy content. Also, this chapter probably has the least amount of added material, so I hope I don't bore you all to death.

**_April 14, 1865, Washington, D.C._ **

Fireworks fill the sky, as the people pour into the streets in celebration. Of all the missions he’s planning, this one gives him the most pause. He could change everything by saving a man he greatly admires, but then history would change and the journal, his _lifeline,_ would be useless. If Lorena and Iris weren’t involved, he might have done just that. But, his family is too precious, too innocent to not be saved.

His target is up ahead, blissfully unaware that his act of treason is about to get much easier. He stealthily stalks behind, until a group of people pass them by. Since no one is currently in ear-shot, he calls out to his target.

“Mr. Booth! I’m quite the admirer of yours.”

Of course, Booth assumes he’s referring to his performances on stage. _Why wouldn’t he? Only his fellow conspirators have knowledge of the impending assassination._

“I’m not talking about a play. I know what you’re about to do. I think I can help,” he clarifies.

He speaks with Booth privately and it doesn’t take long to convince the would-be assassin to accept his help. They agree to meet later with the other conspirators, because Booth cannot make this decision on his own. 

He’s at the Herndon House with Karl waiting for John Wilkes Booth to return. He really just wants to get this over and done with. _This shouldn’t be taking this long_. Karl has less patience than he does. He didn’t think that was possible, but apparently it is. Karl’s been climbing the walls for ten minutes already. _Where the hell is this guy?_

Booth finally shows up at the house. He’s anxious to get down to business, but Booth is being his dramatic self. So, he starts to pace back and forth across the small room. He’s trying hard not to make eye contact with Karl, because that will just try his patience some more. 

It’s still strange to look at him. After all, Karlinius was one of his best lieutenants back in Atlantis. He’s completely different now. His name is truly the only thing that resembles the man he once knew. He doesn’t mind this iteration of him, though. If anything, Karl is more like him now. Before, he was always his conscience; the lieutenant who caused him to pause and think instead of barging in sword-a-swinging. Now, Karl’s just as impulsive, reckless and brutal as he is, which makes him count his blessings. There’s not much room for mercy on this mission; not against Rittenhouse, at least. 

As he’s pacing the room waiting for Booth to begin, he passes by the window and does a double take. It’s Lucy and her team. His instincts kick in before his brain can stop him. He shoots through the window towards them, before internally chastising himself for putting Lucy in harm’s way.

Karl takes up a defensive position at the other window and returns fire down the alley. He can’t yell at him to be careful without giving away how much Lucy means to him, so he says nothing and prays that dumbass Wyatt can get her out of the alley safely. 

Wyatt fires back at him and he ducks back from the window. When he peers back out, he spies Wyatt in a vulnerable position. Wyatt and Karl are trading shots, which leaves the soldier a sitting duck for a man like him. He could easily kill him right now. And, knowing who he used to be and what he did to Lucy in Rome, he _really_ wants to. Since this Lucy likes him, he shoots Wyatt directly above the right hip. It will only kill him if he allows the wound to get infected. Hopefully, the team will jump back to the present and he can carry on here without interference.

After much cajoling, Booth agrees to let Flynn arm him and his men. It doesn’t hurt that he offers to ensure General Grant’s attendance at the play this evening. Karl, of course, shoots him a glare of annoyance, but he ignores it. He’s not exactly comfortable with all of this, but it will without a doubt throw Rittenhouse a curveball. Naturally, they have no idea what he’s planning next, but it won’t be kind to the Confederate sympathizers. He’s not interested in helping a bunch of racists, just hurting Rittenhouse.

He walks to the train station with Karl in tow. His mother would be cringing right now. He’s about to use those engineering genes she passed down, but not like she would’ve wanted. Maria Thompkins-Flynn fixed and built machines, not destroyed them. 

He keeps an eye out for Rittenhouse, or Lucy and her team, while Karl sneaks onto the train to sabotage it. He’s given him explicit instructions on exactly what to do. He wishes it were Stiv here with him, but Karl is a capable backup. 

After successfully sabotaging the train ensuring General Grant can’t leave Washington, Flynn is about to turn and leave when he spots her out of the corner of his eye. He scans the area, but does not see any sign of Rufus or Wyatt. He tells a bewildered Karl that he’ll meet him back at the Herndon House because he has something to take care of. He strolls in her direction, hoping he can use this time alone with her to convince her to join forces with him. 

Suddenly, he stops short. She’s talking with a Union soldier right next to the train. He can see the man clearly, but he’s blocking his view of Lucy from this vantage point. He moves a little bit closer and is now able to hear some of their conversation. It’s patently obvious to him that the solider is taken with her, given the awestruck puppy dog expression plastering his face. He’s had that same expression when in her presence on multiple occasions, so he truly can’t blame the man for having good taste.

“Do you believe in fate?” he hears the man ask Lucy.

 _Fate!_ _He used to believe that he was fated to be with Lucy, but after only getting fleeting glimpses of happiness with her over the centuries, he’s starting to lose his faith_. _One thing’s for sure, Lucy is NOT fated to be with THIS guy!_

A twinge of jealousy rises up within him, as he overhears Lucy blatantly flirting with the man. He honestly doesn’t think it’s some sort of ruse on her part, which makes him even more jealous. He’s also well aware he has no _right_ to be jealous. He has already resigned himself that vengeance for his family is his only priority in this lifetime. If he hadn’t met Lorena and had Iris, he most definitely would be pursuing Lucy. But, things changed after he had his own family and he must not lose sight of the ultimate goal of his mission.

Lucy and the soldier part ways and she strides into the train station. He slips inside right behind her. She has no idea he’s following her.

“We really have to stop meeting like this, Lucy.”

It impresses him that she knows exactly who it is without even turning around, even though in her world, they’ve only met once.

“You son of a bitch! My sister is gone, disappeared because of something you did to the Hindenburg.”

He places his hands behind his back and bows his head down towards her. He doesn’t want to scare her. He never has. He only wants to get through to her.

“It’s war. I lost my whole family.”

“Because you murdered them,” Lucy explains.

 _How dare she?_ The thought makes him want to vomit on the spot. He knows he should just ignore that comment, but she’ll never work with him if she honestly thinks he murdered his own family.

“Rittenhouse murdered them!” he yells.

“I asked about Rittenhouse and no one’s ever heard of him.”

He literally wants to scream out loud. He’s done his research on her this time and he knows how methodical and intuitive of a person she is. You don’t earn a Ph.D. at Stanford by being a gullible idiot who takes everything one’s told at face value. No, Lucy does her homework. She digs and then digs some more. The fact that she didn’t do that here is a miscalculation on his part.

“Rittenhouse isn’t a him, it’s a _they_. And that’s why I’m here, to right some wrongs,” he advises.

“By shooting up half of Washington, trying to destroy America outright?”

Now she’s questioning his patriotism. He truly believed he had finally found “his” Lucy, but perhaps she isn’t the person he thought she was. Maybe she’s a close iteration with only little differences. She’s never questioned his intentions before when it came to something this big. The frustration is almost overwhelming and his patience is running out, which only produces one emotion: anger.

“I’m not trying to destroy America, I’m trying to save it! Lucy, one day you’re going to help me.”

“Or what, you’ll kill me?” she barks.

The thought of him hurting her in any way is laughable to him. Sure, he grabbed her and held her tight at the Hindenburg, but he just wanted to get her attention. Lucy is the key to all of this somehow, he just knows it.

He shakes his head and lowers his intensity an entire level. He doesn’t want her to be afraid of him.

“That’s not a threat, that’s your future. So, accept it and stop trying to interfere!” he states emphatically.

The anger is welling within him again. He wants her to join him, but if he can’t convince her to do that, she needs to stay the hell out of his way.

“What are you trying to do? What does this have to do with Rittenhouse? Tell me!” Lucy demands, as she balls her hand into a fist.

He doesn’t have time to explain. He has a mission to complete. Anger wins the internal tug-of-war raging within him and he grabs her wrist tightly.

“Don’t get in my way again,” he warns.

He lets go of Lucy’s wrist and storms out the door. He hopes and prays she listens to him this time. The more she chooses to interfere, the more brazen those Rittenhouse bastards become and the chance of Lucy getting hurt goes up exponentially. 

He’s also painstakingly aware of the open gash in the middle of his chest; the space where his heart used to reside before Lucy absconded with it. Try and try as he might to maintain focus on this mission, his love for her is immeasurably growing every time he sees her. 

When he arrives back at the house, Karl is waiting for him, along with the extra weapons he plans to convince Booth and his compatriots to use tonight. He gives his spiel to Booth and his men, although Booth seems more interested in “rehearsing his lines” in the mirror. Karl passes out the guns to the others, who have taken quite an interest in them.

“Never seen nothing like it,” one of Booth’s men states.

“Where’d you get these?” another one of his men questions.

“We’re Prussian. We make good guns,” Flynn deadpans.

He strolls over to Booth. It’s imperative he gets this idiot to change his mind.

“Sic Semper Tyranus. The South shall be free,” Booth states dramatically as he stares at himself in the mirror.

“Use this instead,” he suggests, as he hands Booth the glock.

“It’s ugly.”

He rolls his eyes slightly, because he can’t afford to piss Booth off in the process. He needs Booth to kill Lincoln _and_ Grant tonight. 

“It fires 17 bullets. You won’t need the knife,” he informs Booth.

“I like the knife.”

“Just take it!” he barks.

“The Derringer is more dramatic. Now, I appreciate the weaponry you’ve provided us Sir, but I have staked my fortune and fame on this spectacle. And, I will see it through as I imagined it,” Booth declares, as if he’s on the stage already.

He cannot change how stubborn the man is, so he backs off for now. He’ll just wait a little while then try again. If Booth still won’t take the glock, he shudders to think what he will have to do himself. 

He heads out of the house before the conspirators, telling Karl to wait for him at the Lifeboat. He waits in the shadows for another opportunity with Booth outside of the theater. If he can’t convince him…

He waits until Booth passes him on the street, then grabs him and starts to drag him towards the alley. Passersby stare at the pair, so he makes the excuse that his friend is drunk.

“Unhand me!” Booth declares.

Flynn directs Booth into the alley and makes his final plea.

“Grant is gonna be in there too. You’re going to need more than one bullet. Take it,” he demands, as he shoves the glock at him.

Booth starts babbling on about the knife again and something else. He’s not really sure. He’s tuning him out completely, as his mind races trying to play out every scenario, tactic and outcome. Booth is starting to draw unwanted attention, so he knocks him over the head with the glock.

“ _Actors!”_

He skulks out of the alleyway and slips into the side entrance to Ford’s Theatre. _Crap!_ He’s going to have to do this himself. _He’s trying to save America for heaven’s sake!_ Now, he’s going to have to assassinate a President in order to do it. He seriously only considers taking out General Grant. If he does that though, he has no clue what sort of world he will jump back to. It’s an unfortunate, necessary evil in the scheme of his grand plan. He’s going to have to kill Lincoln. He can definitely forget about working with Lucy if she finds that out. He assumes that Lincoln is her favorite President since she keeps writing books on him. If there was any other way, he’d do it, but for the life of him, he hasn’t been able to come up with any alternative, and time is of the essence here. 

He has to wait for Lincoln to arrive and like a typical politician, he doesn’t show up on time. _Why do these important people have to make a spectacle every single time they enter a room?_ He gets it with Lincoln, being President and all, but in his experience it’s not limited to just Heads of State.

Once he’s sure that Lincoln has arrived, he waits until his bodyguard leaves, then sneaks up towards the suite. He pauses at the door, reminding himself over and over again why he’s doing this: _Iris, Lorena, Rittenhouse._

It takes another two minutes to work up his courage. He inhales a deep breath, then flings the door open. His gun is already drawn and he’s ready to shoot, until he sees _her_ that is. He freezes momentarily, the shock of her being there in the President’s suite too much for his system. Her eyes go wide and her jaw drops at the sight of him. 

“No! Mr. President!”

The soldier Lucy’s sitting with attempts to rise from his chair, so Flynn whacks him on the head with the gun. It’s the same guy he saw her with at the train station. He doesn’t have time to think about it right now, but that demon will rear its ugly head in the future at some point. He’s pretty sure of it.

His finger squeezes the trigger twice in succession and the bullets exit the chamber. Honestly, he panicked, but he couldn’t back out at that point. He didn’t want to shoot him to begin with, let alone in front of Lucy, but, he _did it_. He’ll just have to add it to his tally of sins, because he needs his head clear so he can finish the job.

He pivots towards the other side of the box and aims at General Grant. All of a sudden, Lucy grabs his arm as she tries to wrestle the gun from his grasp. They struggle for a minute, before his warrior/military training just kicks into gear. He needs to rid himself of the obstacle to his mission and he needs to do it fast. The only problem, the obstacle is Lucy. He could never truly hurt her, but he needs her to be safely on the sideline. 

She almost has the gun, so he grabs her by the neck and tosses her onto the couch. He regrets it the second he does it, but he can’t take it back. The soldier grabs him from behind a moment later and General Grant decides he’s getting in on the action as well. The three men tussle for a while, until they knock the glock out of Flynn’s hand and onto the stage below. 

He manages to fight off both men, then turns back to glance at Lucy one last time before he makes his getaway. He freezes again, but not because of anything General Grant or the soldier are doing. This-this is all Lucy. Somehow, she has a gun and she’s pointing it directly at him. If she pulls the trigger right now, he’s a dead man. She could end this entire quest of his with literally one finger. Her hand is shaking as she aims in his direction. He knows she’s not comfortable with guns from his research on her, but she could get lucky and hit him. He needs to move, needs to escape before the General and the soldier regain their wits. _So, why is he just staring at her, stuck in quicksand at the moment?_

She doesn’t pull the trigger though. For one brief, fleeting second, he thinks he almost saw a flash of recognition in his beloved; a twinkling in her eye that she saw past his outer layer and deep into his soul. If she did, she’d find the piece of herself that resides there; the piece of her that became immortally intertwined with a piece of him.

Movement in his peripheral vision snaps him back to reality. He turns and jumps off the balcony, landing hard on the stage below. He spots the glock lying on the stage, grabs it and staggers to the back before disappearing behind the curtain. 

He slips out of the theatre the same way he went in and weaves into the gathering crowd. He walks the opposite way than he needs to, ensuring he doesn’t have a tail before he heads back to the Mothership. All he wants right now is to get back to the present and try to forget what he just did. He knows it’s useless, but he needs to try. He can’t afford to fall apart now, not when the stakes are so high. 

He ensures he regains his composure before he enters the ship. _Time to go back into boss mode for Anthony and Karl_. It’s also for his own benefit. Tonight didn’t turn out as he intended. He just hopes and prays it didn’t put the nail in the coffin when it comes to Lucy working with him. Only time will tell.


	15. Castle Varlar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flynn enlists his most despicable ally in his fight against Rittenhouse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just want to thank everyone who has commented or given kudos. It means so much and feeds the beast that is my muse.

**_October 24, 2016, Somewhere in the Bay Area_ **

Classical music lofts through the air of the abandoned warehouse he’s squatting in. He specifically chose this place because it was off the beaten path, yet offered him access to the amount of power needed in order to recharge the Mothership. It’s dirty and dusty and he thought he saw a rat the other day, but it’s functional. Plus, he’s seen and lived in much worse over the millennia. 

He watches intently as Anthony Bruhl slowly removes the nuclear core from the warhead. If this works, Lucy and her team will never be able to keep up with him. Hopefully, this is the break he so desperately needs.

“Can’t we put on some Black Sabbath?” Karl whines.

He shoots him his best “shut the hell up, Karl” look, then turns back to Anthony. Karl is an excellent second-in-command, but sometimes he tries Flynn’s nerves as much as he tries Anthony’s. Anthony explains his music keeps him calm and right now _everyone_ should want him calm. It’s not like Anthony is playing with Lego’s over there. 

Suddenly, his men alert him that they have company. The surveillance system shows the authorities moving in on the warehouse. Even though they’re dressed in tactical gear, he recognizes one of them on the monitor. _Wyatt_. _Will he ever cease to be a thorn in his side? How the hell did they even find this place?_

“Anthony, how much longer?”

“Thirty seconds.”

Flynn glares back at Anthony, silently pleading with him to go faster.

“Thirty seconds if you don’t want to explode,” Anthony retorts.

He instructs his men to seize whatever they can. They grab as much gear and papers as they’re able to, leaving the computers and other non-essential tech, while Anthony continues to work on the nuclear core. They frantically load the Mothership with as much as they can, as Anthony finishes his work with the nuclear material. 

The door bursts open a second later and the tactical team enters the warehouse. Most of the weapons and gear have already made it aboard, so they grab the last of what they’re able to get their hands on quickly and climb aboard. Wyatt and the SWAT team fire off a few rounds, but Anthony finishes the jump a few seconds later.

 _Too close for comfort. He needs to figure out how they found them. If he can’t have a home base in the present, is he going to have to take his chances in the past? Will they be able to track him there as well?_ This battery that Anthony has theorized is becoming more and more critical to the mission. It might be his only chance to outpace the team and make a difference, especially if they’ve figured out a way to track him now.

He can’t worry about that now. This next mission is going to try his soul in ways nothing has before. He needs his wits about him, particularly because he knows he’s going to run into Lucy once again. He has tried desperately to get her to believe him about Rittenhouse, but she’s still fighting for the wrong side. It’s becoming more problematic with each mission and she’s becoming more distracting with every encounter. Something needs to change and change quickly or this entire war he’s started is doomed.

**_December 7, 1944, Germany_ **

They land in a secluded wooded area, but close enough to the city of Cologne that they can walk. He needs to acquire a suit for this mission. Not just any suit, mind you. No, this suit has to scream money to anyone with eyes. He’s also going to require a vehicle, so he assigns that job to Karl. 

He peruses the various options in about three different high-end stores. At the final store, he selects a black pin-stripe that he believes will be flattering and tries it on. When he steps back in front of the mirror, he notices that all of the salesclerks, including the three women and one man, are staring at him with wide, lust-filled eyes. _This is it._ Since he has achieved the desired look by the reactions of the salesclerks, he pays for the suit, then leaves the store. 

He strolls down the street in search of Karl, but he doesn’t have to search for long. Karl pulls up alongside him in a black Mercedes and he jumps into the back. He quickly changes into his new suit, then instructs Karl to head towards the castle. Karl will need to serve as his driver for the day, at least until he meets up with the Nazis.

His breath hitches as they approach the castle. This mission will use up every ounce of patience he has. 

“We’re here, Boss,” Karl states as he parks the car.

“I can see that. Get the damn door!”

Karl seems to finally understand that he’s supposed to be playing the role of chauffeur. He jumps out of the car and fast walks to the other side before opening the door for Flynn. 

Two guards greet him at the entrance and escort him into the castle. They lead him to a parlor, where he waits to be received. The guards return a moment later, and inform him he has been granted a meeting with Colonel Shitkicker, or whatever. He doesn’t care what this asshole’s name is. All he wants to do is grab von Braun, turn him over to the Soviets, and get on to the next mission. The less time he has to spend with this human excrement the better. 

He uses the alias of Herr Vogel, a wealthy businessman from Berlin. Of course they don’t give a damn about him; that is until he makes a large financial donation to “the Reich.” 

Now that he has their attention, he expresses an interest in meeting the brilliant mind behind their latest rockets. After all, he wants to know exactly what his donation is going toward. The Nazis are more than happy to comply and introduce him to von Braun. Colonel Shitkicker insists they drive out to see the rocket in person before tonight’s festivities. He agrees to the excursion, if only to allow von Braun to be comfortable around him. Honestly, the man seems like he’s in his own little world sometimes, always scribbling in his notebook and such. 

They drive out to the launch pad and inspect the rocket. It’s not as if he has never seen one up close before, so he really has to sell this performance and feign intense interest. He asks one leading question, which easily prompts von Braun into a five minute spiel about the wonders of the rocket he’s created. He continues this charade until the Nazis decide they’ve looked at the rocket long enough and escort them all back into the vehicle.

He’s stuck mingling with this Nazi scum until the party begins. He hasn’t had to converse in German this much for a really long time, so he has to pay careful attention. If he slips with his accent even slightly, or uses the wrong phrase, they could think _he’s_ a spy. 

He keeps his eye on von Braun, knowing full well Lucy and her team will inevitably show up for him. He’s already warned the Nazis about the English spy and his likely accomplice. It physically pains him to do this, but Lucy keeps interfering. If he ever wants to see his little girl again, he can’t have that. He must ensure Lucy’s out of the way, but he also feels a responsibility to ensure her safety. He may allow the Nazis to detain her, but he’s not going to allow them to do much more than that.

He manages to convince himself that it’s a necessary evil. Since he knows Lucy finds her way out of here, considering her future-self goes back in time and gives him the journal, it lessens his guilt, if only slightly. His feelings about her are conflicting and convoluting. Every time he’s in her presence, he balances on that tightrope between losing control and maintaining his conviction to keep her at arm’s-length in this lifetime.

The next thing he knows, the party is in full swing, so he finds a quiet corner out of sight. He can still see von Braun scribbling in his notepad across the room. All he has to do now is wait for Lucy. In the meantime, he also has to try not to draw attention to himself. He can’t risk someone asking too many questions and throwing yet another wrench into the gears.

He spots Lucy entering the upstairs balcony with the English spy. She looks nervous to him and he completely understands why. She’s a teacher in this life, not a trained soldier or spy. To be in her position, surrounded by freaking Nazis, is not something he envies. This would be a daring mission for the most seasoned operatives. One wrong move and you’re probably dead. _That_ outcome is unthinkable _and_ unacceptable.

Try as he may, every time he sees her, those old feelings creep into his heart. The damn uniform she has on is such a turn on that he’s having trouble concentrating right now. If it didn’t have swastikas all over it, he might want her to hang onto it for a little while. The thought of her in that uniform with those ruby red lips straddling him in bed…

 _Focus, damn it!_ He’s never seen her in a uniform like that before _. What if she just wore the tie and nothing else?_ _Holy hell_. He’s never getting through this mission if he doesn’t get his brain out of the gutter.

The truth is, with a little bit of training, he thinks Lucy would make an excellent spy. She amazingly adapts to almost anything. 

He refocuses on his surroundings, but winds up wishing that he didn’t. The British spy places his hand over Lucy’s and he’s ready to blow a gasket, even though he has no reason to. He’s not usually a jealous man, but when it comes to Lucy, sometimes he just can’t help himself. _He_ wants to be the man holding her hand. He’s been bereft of her touch for far too long.

Finally, Lucy and her spy split up and she slowly descends the stairs. She takes a deep breath and then takes a step towards von Braun. He slides out of his shadowy corner and grabs Lucy by the arm. He pulls her close, so as to not draw attention to them when they speak.

“I was wondering when you’d get here. Where’s your friend Wyatt? He dropped in on me this morning uninvited. Very rude.”

He spins her around to face him and they gaze into each other’s eyes with fire. His lips are being drawn to hers like a magnet and he’s so close to losing control right now. She’s hypnotic, an alluring vision of beauty that haunts his thoughts and dreams constantly. Try as he might, he’ll never be able to deny his love for her. 

“Don’t worry, he’s close by. So, this is about von Braun? What I don’t understand is why don’t you just kill him? Unless…you want to give him to the Soviets,” Lucy muses aloud.

He smirks devilishly back at her. He adores it when she’s clever on her feet like this. 

“Killing von Braun would be easy, but handing him to the Russians, ensuring they’ll win the cold war, maybe even be the first to the moon…far more damaging,” he explains.

“For whom? For Rittenhouse? This paranoid delusion of yours!”

_Oh, here we go again._

“They’re very real. I just wish you could recognize there is a greater good in here,” he replies.

He really does wish she could see this for what it is. If only he had the time to try to convince her otherwise. The irony is not lost on him. He has a time machine and time is the one luxury he no longer has. If Rittenhouse is allowed to go unchecked, the results for this world could be catastrophic. Lucy would be appalled if she truly understood what kind of a menace Rittenhouse is.

“Greater good? You shot Lincoln, you’re helping _Nazis_! It sounds insane even saying it, much less you doing it,” Lucy chastises.

He wants to yell at the top of his lungs and shake some sense into her. Lucy is being beyond stubborn about this, even though the evidence is all right in front of her face. He hates every single thing he’s doing. He hates himself even more for who he’s become. _Why can’t she just understand what this is doing to him? If she only knew the price he has already paid._

“You think I like this? You think I like helping these _bastards_? You think I sleep at night? One day you’ll understand, I’m a patriot,” he whispers angrily.

Now it’s time for her to look smug. It angers him, but also turns him on. He’s now at war within himself.

“You keep telling yourself that. And, by the way, you’re not getting von Braun,” Lucy advises.

“What makes you so sure?”

The barrel of a gun gets shoved into his back. He glances back at Lucy, chuckling internally at how confident she has suddenly become. For whatever reason, he tends to bring it out in her. 

“You found your way to the British spy,” he teases.

She looks surprised by his knowledge of this, even knowing he has her journal. He turns back to Ian Fleming and with an air of both mockery and flattery states, “Love your movies.”

Lucy’s getting angrier that he seems nonplussed by all of this. He can read it on her face. If they weren’t trying to hide the fact that they were speaking in English, she’d already be yelling in his face.

“You didn’t think everywhere you went we wouldn’t come after you?” Lucy asks with incredulity.

“That’s exactly what I was counting on,” he counters smugly.

He holds up a finger and Colonel Shitkicker and a bunch of goons surround them. The Colonel asks him if this is the British spy and his accomplice that he told them about. He confirms they are the ones trying to abduct Mr. von Braun.

Ian Fleming tries to pull a fast one, reminding everyone that he has him at gunpoint. In response, Colonel Shitkicker pulls out his weapon and points it at Lucy’s head. This is not at all what he intended or wanted, but he can’t react.That will only put her in more danger. He sure as hell can’t trust these monsters with Lucy’s life dangling so precariously.

Lucy is terrified right now and he finds he can barely breathe. Fleming lowers his gun and the Nazis seize them. Relief washes over him like a warm blanket. _She’s safe, at least for now._ He turns and watches as the Nazis manhandle Lucy and Fleming into another room. She glances back at him as they reach the archway, silently pleading him not to do this. It tugs at his heart strings. Seeing someone treat her roughly brings back bad memories. He’s not sure whether he’s currently more upset with himself or the Nazis. _What if he changes something and they hurt her?_

He glances back at the archway again, even though Lucy is long gone. Perhaps he shouldn’t have done that. _He’ll make sure they don’t hurt her. He’ll get her out of this one way or another._ He might not be able to be with her in this lifetime, but it doesn’t mean he has to condemn her to death or torture.

He catches up with von Braun in the corridor and walks with him down the stairs. von Braun thanks him again for saving his life.

“My pleasure. I actually had some more questions for you. Perhaps a drink?” Flynn asks him in German.

von Braun replies that he will be happy to speak to him after the launch. He was hoping that von Braun would go quietly, but that doesn’t seem to be the case. He puts his left hand on von Braun’s shoulder, pulls his gun with his right and shoves it into the man’s back. 

“Now would be best.”

He’s about to lead him out of this place and complete the first part of his mission, when suddenly the entire building shakes violently. It almost feels as if it’s an earthquake. Panic runs rampant throughout the party and screams fill the room. The lights flicker off and then back on again. When he turns, von Braun is running down the stairs directly into Lucy, Wyatt and Fleming’s waiting arms. _Damn it!_

He glares across the balcony at them, watching helplessly as they ascend the opposite stairs with von Braun in tow. His eyes meet Lucy’s and for a split second time stops. Only the two of them exist in the entire universe. _Good lord, she’s beautiful._

The Nazi soldiers behind him draw their weapons, which snaps him back to reality. They can’t get away with von Braun. He’s the only reason he’s put up with these Nazi shitheads all damn day. He sprints forward in pursuit, chasing after them with a renewed sense of purpose. 

They follow Lucy and her cohorts down the corridor to a study. Their quarry has barricaded the door. He screams at the soldiers to break it down. The soldiers bang away and the door begins to show signs of breaking. He can hear them talking from inside the study, but he can’t make out what they’re saying.

“Break it down!” he orders forcefully.

The door caves after a few more slams. He enters the room with the soldiers only to find nothing. They’re gone. He has no clue where they went, since there’s only one way in and one way out (at least that he knows of). The soldiers look at each other with wide eyes and disbelief. He sighs heavily and runs his hand through his hair. _Unbelievable._

Somehow, either Lucy or Fleming found a way out of this room. If he had to pick one of them, he would bet on Lucy. She is a genius after all. He knows it wasn’t Wyatt. That dumbass probably wanted to shoot his way out of here. Fleming has potential, but considering he spoiled his plan earlier, he’s willing to bet that the Brit didn’t have a back-up plan in place. 

Since he’s lost von Braun, he has no reason to stick around these real-life monsters. He can’t wait to wash the stench of Nazi off of him. The soldiers run out of the room to try and find their prisoners on the castle grounds, so he uses this opportunity to sneak out himself. 

He winds his way through the woods, the dim moonlight his only guide. Finally, he comes upon the clearing where Karl is waiting with the car.

“What took you so long, Boss?”

“Get us out of here,” Flynn barks.

He doesn’t want to talk about it and Karl has better sense than to push right now. It’s patently obvious that the mission was a failure. 

They drive back to Cologne, ditch the car and walk back to the Mothership. Anthony doesn’t ask any questions, just prepares the return jump in silence.

They land back in the present at an abandoned church he previously scoped out; his plan B hideout. The place is cramped, dusty and dank. Plus, the fact that this used to be a house of worship is frankly a daily reminder of his unworthiness of Lorena, Iris and Lucy. But, this is who is he, who he has always been; the man who fights for those that can’t. 

He and Karl watch quietly as Anthony places the battery into the Mothership. 

“How long will the battery you created last?” he asks.

“If my math is correct…and it is, about three hundred years,” Anthony replies confidently.

_Finally, some good news!_

He smiles at Anthony, then retires to his little room in the back of the church to prepare for his next jump. He just hopes it goes better than the previous ones did.


	16. Watergate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flynn goes after a piece of history and winds up convincing Lucy of Rittenhouse’s existence.

**_June 20, 1972, Washington, D.C._ **

Flynn and his team fan out on the street in search of Lucy and the rest of her team. He spots her across the street at a war protest. Her hair is down and poker-straight, which is a change for her; a change he likes very much. Her orange coat makes her stand out amongst the crowd, (not that she doesn’t always). He can easily keep his eye on her as he and Karl make their approach. This isn’t something he _wants_ to do, but he doesn’t really see any other option at the moment. He needs to get a leg up on Rittenhouse if he can and the perfect opportunity has just presented itself.

A fight breaks out between a hippie and a soldier and he takes the opening to grab her. He passes her off to his guy, Nick, and goes towards the melee to help Karl wrangle Wyatt in. Karl decides he’s had enough and tases Wyatt, then chloroform’s him. With the scuffle still going on, no one pays much attention to him or his men as they drag Lucy, Rufus and Wyatt back to an abandoned hotel room. He has his men tie Lucy and Rufus’ hands with rope, but saves the pair of handcuffs for Wyatt. He leaves Karl to guard them until Wyatt wakes back up.

Once he hears them talking, he opens the door and struts in. His eyes never leave Lucy the entire time. _God, she’s beautiful._

“Recognize this room? You stayed here the night Abraham Lincoln was shot. A few weeks for us, a century for them. Remarkable, huh?” he asks as he removes his suit jacket.

“Oh, God, you’re gonna to talk us to death, aren’t ya?” Wyatt complains.

He ignores the asshole and focuses on Lucy.

“Had a hunch I’d find you on the way to the White House, Lucy. I need you to do something for me,” he informs her.

He nods at Karl, indicating it’s alright for him to leave. Karl takes the hint and shuts the door behind him as he exits.

“We’re not getting the Nixon tape for you,” Lucy declares.

“Not necessary. I already got it myself,” he advises as he holds up the tape.

She looks a little shocked that he was able to obtain it, but he doesn’t take it too much to heart. After all, she hasn’t really been able to appreciate his genius just yet. He strides over to the dresser where he has the tape recorder already set up, and puts the Nixon tape into it.

“You broke in the White House basement?” Lucy asks.

“You think you’re the only ones who can forge a 1970’s ID? I _do_ own a color printer and a laminator. The only problem was, I had to shoot a White House guard on the way out. Well, two actually…and now I can’t really move around the city freely. Authorities are looking for me. So, I need _you_ to find something,” he explains as he turns his head back to look at her.

“What?”

“Let’s have a listen,” he responds as he presses play.

He watches Lucy’s face intently as President Nixon goes on about getting the doc back and Rittenhouse. She can’t hide the shock at hearing the name she thought he had made up coming directly from President Nixon’s lips. _Who’s the crazy one now, huh?_

“Rittenhouse plays by different rules. Do you understand who they are? How deep I’m in with Ritten-”

He stops the tape recorder. 

“Did you hear what President Nixon just said, Lucy?”

He tilts his head and stares directly at her, giving her his best “I told you so” look. He doesn’t mean to be a smart ass about it, but…

“I’m sorry, I-I didn’t hear that,” he repeats, as he leans even closer to her.

“Rittenhouse,” she answers in a barely audible whisper.

“I guess it’s not so much my, uh, _paranoid_ _delusion_ anymore, is it?”

She glares back at him, angry that he was right all along or that she didn’t believe him; he’s not quite sure which.

“This document Nixon wants-”

“I don’t know anything about it. I don’t know what he’s talking about, okay?” Lucy states forcefully.

He stands up and leans his body against the dresser, looking down at her tied to a chair. His eyes flicker to her legs, the tall, leather boots provoking the urge to run his hand up her thighs. _Focus._

“I believe you,” he answers as he turns around and picks the journal up from the top of the dresser. “Even looked in here. I couldn’t find anything about this document.”

Lucy meets his eyes again with a fiery fury burning within them. It’s suddenly abundantly clear to him that she has not been entirely forthcoming with her friends over there. They don’t know about the journal at all. He knows he’s pressing his luck, but he can’t help himself from teasing her a little.

“What’s that?” Rufus questions.

“Oh, this is Lucy’s journal. What? She never told you about it?” he teases.

“What’s he talking about?” Wyatt demands.

Oh course, Lucy denies writing it.

“Well, it’s complicated. You see, she’s going to write it a few years from now,” he explains with a smirk.

“What?” Rufus asks.

“I know, time travel, right? Phew,” he responds mockingly as he mimics his head exploding.

The three of them stare back at him as if he’s speaking another language at the moment.

“It’s my guide. Apparently, _she_ and _I_ are going to be _quite_ the team one day.”

 _At least he hopes so._ _If this journal is wrong about that, he’s been wasting a ton of time._ So far, it’s been pretty accurate, save that incident with Wyatt shooting him at the Hindenburg. But, it’s Lucy, and he’ll never give up hope to win her over. He knows himself too well for that.

Lucy insists that the journal is completely fake, and he’s quick to remind her that they’ve talked about this previously.

“You even admitted it’s your own handwriting,” he declares.

Lucy is caught now. He sort of enjoys watching her squirm in an effort to get out of this. _She’s not very convincing in his opinion._ She tries to clarify that she only said it _looked_ like her handwriting, but neither Rufus nor Wyatt are buying this garbage.

“But, you did talk to Flynn? When?” Rufus asks with confusion.

He can’t pass up another opportunity to expose his relationship with Lucy. It may be petty, but Wyatt’s presence does seem to bring it out of him.

“Ooh, let’s see…uh, train station in 1865, the Nazi castle in Germany. Lucy, what have you told them about us?” he laughs.

Again, she stares daggers at him. Wyatt is getting angrier by the second, so he knows he needs to try to tone it down a bit. Wyatt point blank asks Lucy if it’s true and she tells him it’s complicated.

“Nah, the truth is not complicated,” Wyatt retorts.

“I don’t know what the truth is anymore,” Lucy answers honestly.

He moves to the front of the room to address all three of them. As much as he enjoys being in her presence, he’s wasting too much time.

“Okay, the truth is, she didn’t believe in Rittenhouse until President Nixon just confirmed it. But, for now, if Rittenhouse wants this document so badly, whatever it is, I want it first!” he declares as he points his finger at his chest.

Lucy asks how they’re supposed to find this doc and he reminds her how resourceful she is. He pulls a knife out of his pocket and flicks it open. He slowly circles behind the chair Lucy is tied to. He bends down, whispers into her ear that she needs to find a way, then cuts her ropes. _Her hair smells heavenly and he wants nothing more than to run his fingers through it. Plus, this is as close to her as he has ever been in this life, and he desires to lean down and kiss her neck in that sweet spot he knows she likes so much._

His focus returns a moment later and he ambles over and cuts Rufus’ ropes next. Then, he relays his five hour deadline for the document. Wyatt tries to get him to kill him right then and there. _He would love nothing more, but Lucy cares for him in this lifetime, so that option’s almost off the table; almost._ _But they don’t need to know that._

“Go straight to the Lifeboat. Screw Flynn. Do _not_ give him what he wants,” Wyatt pleads.

“Five hours. Don’t hurt him,” Lucy pleads as she and Rufus walk out the door.

**_Two Hours Later_ **

He paces to the front of the room. 

“It’s gotta be hard. You know as well as I do a soldier is only as good as the guy beside him in the fox hole. If your own team is lying to you…”

“Mmm, yeah, wow. You are really Jedi mind-tricking the crap out of me pal. You really think this psych routine’s gonna work?” Wyatt rumbles.

“Not a routine, Wyatt. We’re two grunts in the same war. The only difference is, lately…you’re fighting on the wrong side. I just wish you could understand that,” he replies.

He truly does wish this idiot would come around. He’s not the sharpest bulb, but he’s useful in a fight. And, he needs all the help he can get in this war against Rittenhouse.

“Well, make me understand. No, no, no. I’m serious. We’re just, uh, sittin’ here. Two grunts, right? So…explain to me how you’re not just some creepy sociopath?” Wyatt states.

He raises his eyebrows and glances back at him. He doesn’t believe Wyatt’s serious for a damn second. But, he’s got time to kill right now, so he’ll humor him.

“I’ve got nothing to hide. Not like Lucy.”

He strides over and takes a seat in the empty chair next to Wyatt. 

“Two years ago, my old pals at the NSA outsourced some surveillance to a group I worked with. Wanted it off the books. Standard stuff. Ah, evade security, retrieve and review some corporate financials.”

“Um, thrilling,” Wyatt replies with sarcasm.

The more time he spends with him, the more he just wants to punch him. He’s so fucking smug right now. This fool honestly thinks he’s gonna outsmart him. 

“Well, not until I stumbled onto huge sums of money being funneled through the Caymans to a world-renowned tech mogul, Connor Mason, to help him achieve his latest ambition: _time travel_ ,” he explains.

“Is that so?” Wyatt asks mockingly. “Where’d the money come from?”

“Hard to tell. But, once I broke the encryption, one name kept popping up: Rittenhouse. That’s right. Rittenhouse bankrolls Connor Mason. So, I flagged these transfers to my NSA contact and uh, he said he’d take care of it.”

“But, he didn’t,” Wyatt responds.

“Oh, but he did.”

He leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees. He can’t look at Wyatt while he recounts the worst night of his entire existence. He can only stare blankly straight ahead. 

“Four nights later, I’m home asleep when my wife gets up in the middle of the night to go check on our little girl. She thought she heard her coughing.”

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath before opening them again. The pain bubbles up in his body, twisting and contorting his face in the utter agony he still experiences daily. 

“We call them silencers, but they’re not _that_ silent; not at night. Not when it’s two shots murdering your family,” he reveals.

He hangs his head low as he relives that night again momentarily. It’s not as if he’ll ever forget it, but reliving it over and over doesn’t do him any good either. 

Wyatt questions if he fought back. He has to explain that there were too many of them, bullets flying everywhere in the dark and he barely made it out himself. He wipes his eyes with his hand trying to shun the images back into the abyss.

“And, then Rittenhouse framed me for all of it and I found myself on the run, but it was all _Rittenhouse_. Just because I asked a single question. And, that’s who they are,” he ponders aloud.

Dumbass then has the nerve to ask him why he doesn’t just go back and save his family. _Seriously? He’s been time traveling all this time and he doesn’t even have a rudimentary understanding of how this all works?_

“Like how you want to save your wife? You know the rules as well as I do. We can’t go back to a time I already exist. And, since I don’t know who put the hit out to begin with, I’m just gonna wipe Rittenhouse from the map,” he spews angrily.

Wyatt just peers back at him with that stupid smirk on his face.

“And, once I do, who knows. Maybe one day I’ll come back and my girls will be there again,” he states wistfully.

**_One Hour Later_ **

Flynn checks his watch. Still no word from Lucy. He’s starting to get worried. But, he knows she didn’t take off in the Lifeboat and leave Wyatt to a certain death. She just doesn’t have it in her.

“Two hours left. I wonder if your friends are gonna make it,” he announces.

“Why don’t you look at that magical future book? It should tell you.”

He would love nothing more than to find something, anything, in that journal that will help convince him, but he’s pretty sure it’s pointless. _Or, you could read him that one entry, the one where Lucy talks about kissing you back. That should piss him off real good._

“Doesn’t say.”

“But, it told you to come to 1972?” Wyatt questions.

He sighs aloud. _This is gonna take longer than he expected._

“It has an entry on the uh, erased Nixon tape, yes,” he confirms.

“So how’s this end? Do you kill me? Am I rescued? What’s the point spread in the next Super Bowl? Who’s playing?” Wyatt asks smugly.

He wants to punch him in the face right now. He’s getting really tired of dealing with dickheads all the time. He explains he doesn’t know exactly what happens today, because Lucy didn’t write everything down in the journal.

“Though what is written does sometimes sound crazy. Like a different Lucy,” he admits.

“Yeah, Lucy’s the one who sounds crazy.”

He’s had just about enough of this asshole right now. His patience is wearing thin and if he’s left in here much longer with him, he may just have to take a shot across the bow.

“You wanna know what she wrote about you, about your wife?” he asks.

Oh, _now_ he’s got his attention. He watches his body language and senses he’s definitely hit a sore spot.

“My wife’s dead. It’s no big secret.”

“Oh, at the time Lucy writes this thing, she knows a lot more than that. Let’s see…you were out with Jessica. That’s her name, right?”

He continues with the entire story of how Wyatt’s drunken, jealous behavior led to them fighting and him leaving his wife on the side of the road.

“Shut the hell up!”

“It took you what, only twenty minutes until you cooled down, came back for her. By then, she was gone. Never came home that night, or any night. Not until two weeks later when they found her strangled in the bushes. Never even caught who did it,” he continues.

“I said shut the hell up!” Wyatt yells angrily.

He knows he’s really getting under his skin right now, so he decides it’s time to hammer in the last nail, so to speak.

“Listen to this. _‘Wyatt’s obsessed with his wife’s death. He needs to let go, move on.’_ Lucy’s words, not mine. Me? I understand. More than most. You can’t let go. Because we can change history. And, somehow, some way we can save the people we love.”

Wyatt glares back at him and he decides to let him stew on that thought. So, he gets up, opens the door and exits the room.

**_One Hour Later_ **

He’s out in the hallway pacing again when he hears Wyatt call out his name. He reenters the room and strolls towards him with his hands in his pocket. He glares down at Wyatt.

“Let’s just say, uh, if I believed you, _big_ if, and Rittenhouse really is that dangerous…”

“Yeah.”

“Well, there’s gotta be a way to take them out without destroying America. I mean, what you’re doing it’s uh, kinda scorched earth, don’t you think?” Wyatt asks him.

“Rittenhouse and America are so intertwined. Sometimes, it’s hard to tell one from the other. They’re a cancer. There’s no other choice. To save the body, you have to attack the body,” he advises.

Wyatt is looking extra smug right now, which unsettles him slightly.

“Well then, that settles it. I guess you really are a creepy sociopath,” Wyatt replies.

Suddenly, the soldier springs out of the chair and takes a swing at him. He’s able to duck the first blow, but Wyatt connects with his jaw on the second. _Oh, this asshole is so going to regret doing that._

Wyatt punches him in the stomach next and he doubles over in pain. Lucy’s soldier grabs him by the collar and slams him up against the wall. _He’s going to regret that even more!_ He uses his elbow to punch back at Wyatt, as he struggles to get him off of him.

A second later, the door opens and one of his men comes rushing in. He thinks the guy’s name might be Tom, but he’s just not sure. Karl recruited him. All he knows is, he’s big, scary and very useful in a pinch.

Wyatt tosses him directly at Tom’s legs, taking both of them out in the process, then rushes past them out into the hallway. He’s hopeful that the soldier won’t get far. He has men all over this building, but the jackass is Delta Force.

Another one of his men must have intercepted Wyatt, because he can hear the banging and crashing out in the hall. He scrambles to his feet and so does Tom Big and Scary. Wyatt slams the glass cover of a hallway lamp over the head of Nick, one of his other guys courtesy of Karl. 

Tom stomps to the door, grabs Wyatt from behind, then slams him to the ground like The Rock in his wrestling days. He towers over him with his gun drawn, as Wyatt gasps for breath on the floor.

“You have an hour left,” he advises before Tom secures Wyatt to the chair once more.

**_Deadline Time_ **

“And, that’s all the time we have,” he announces as he checks his watch.

Just then, the door opens and Karl enters the room.

“Lucy called the payphone,” Karl advises.

“What’d she say?”

Karl advises that Lucy gave him an address to meet her. _He knew she could do it. That woman is truly awe-inspiring._ He decides to leave Tom to guard Wyatt and the rest of his team drives to the address Lucy gave them.

They cautiously approach the house from both sides, but don’t see any movement. They enter the house and he has his men fan out. There is no sign of Lucy or Rufus or any document; at least in plain sight. 

Suddenly, he hears the squeal of tires outside. He peeks out and sees a bunch of men in suits with guns get out of the cars. _Rittenhouse!_ _Damn it_. He takes a defensive position behind a wall and waits until they enter the room.

He pokes his head out and sprays the room in a hail of bullets from his semi-automatic. One of the goons fires back at him and he jumps back behind the wall. _This is not how he planned to spend his day._ The bullets continue to fly, so he knocks over a small, round table and uses it as a shield. He kills another one of them, but there’s still one man left to deal with. He spies the man in the mirror and concocts his plan. He opts to go with shock and awe, so he kicks over the table, then shoots the remaining goon.

The door behind him suddenly opens and he spots another one of them pointing a gun at him. Karl appears behind the man and uses a garrote to eliminate him. Karl tosses the body down the flight of stairs next to the other goon he must have killed earlier. 

He glances back into the room and begins to genuinely chuckle. Karl raises his eyebrows and peers over at him as if he’s lost his mind.

“What?” Karl asks.

“We’ve been played, that’s what,” he laughs.

If it wasn’t Lucy, he would have been mad that someone got the better of him, but not his beautiful genius. He could never really be angry with her for very long.

They quickly exit the scene before the actual authorities arrive and drive back to the hotel only to find an unconscious Tom and no Wyatt in sight. He rolls his eyes, gathers his team and heads back to the Mothership. He instructs Anthony to jump back to the present, but not back to the abandoned church right away. He has a pit stop to make first.

All this talk of his family compels him to visit their final resting place. Stiv previously told him where they were buried, but he’s never been here before. It was never safe before. Now, if the cops or Rittenhouse have eyes on the cemetery, he’ll at least have a fighting chance with the amount of firepower and manpower he possesses at his disposal. He makes sure there are no cops or Rittenhouse agents lying in wait before he dares even approach the area. As he stares at the gravestone baring his wife and daughter’s names, it still doesn’t seem real. He still half expects Iris to bounce into a room sometimes, or hear Lorena humming from the couch. 

He reaches up with his hand and absentmindedly traces the names and dates engraved in the stone. _Wife. Daughter._ It comforts him slightly that Lorena’s family had enough faith in him to know that he didn’t do this and engraved the stone accordingly. Tears fill his eyes, but he does not cry; not _yet_ anyway. He tells them that he loves them and he misses them, but he will see them again. One way or another, he will see them again.

He cannot hold back the tears any longer. They stream down, staining his cheeks with salt and regret. He apologizes over and over again for not being able to protect them. Even if he saves them, he doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to properly forgive himself. It’s a stark reminder of his currently reality, but it also serves to spur him on. He’s doing all of this for them, no one else.

He cannot stay here much longer, but before he leaves, he vows that he will see his girls very soon. He will _not_ stop until Rittenhouse is wiped from this Earth and his girls are back among the world of the living.


	17. West Point

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flynn seeks the team’s assistance in tracking down the world’s most infamous traitor.

**_September 25, 1780, Fort Montgomery, New York_ **

He hangs around the streets of the town, watching as the colonial residents mill about, blissfully unaware of the importance of what will occur later today.

He stands outside of the tavern, waiting patiently for his mark to arrive. He knows it’s a risk to be out here all alone, but he’s trying to remain as inconspicuous as possible. Dragging Karl along does not help in that respect, because he’ll inevitably draw attention to himself. 

Finally, the wagon pulls up to the tavern and begins to unload its cargo of oysters. He approaches the man slowly, knowing full well that his height and accent can be off-putting to say the least. Normally, he’d try his best to suppress his accent, but in this particular case, he emphasizes it.

“Excuse me, Mr. Roe?”

“Yes? Can I help you with something?” Roe responds.

“Indeed you can. Might we perhaps be able to speak in private?” he requests.

“I would be happy to for a fellow countryman as yourself, but I do need to get these oysters into the tavern first.”

“By all means,” he answers with a bow and wave of his hand.

He certainly doesn’t want to intercept Roe before the exchange occurs. It’s paramount that the news of Arnold’s betrayal reaches Washington before he arrives. 

Once Roe exits the tavern after delivering the oysters, he notices a teenaged boy exit a few seconds afterwards. The boy has a satchel over his shoulder and a small bucket of said oysters. He assumes the boy is using the oysters as cover to move out of the city and deliver the communiqué. 

He leads Roe down to a hidden alley so they can have their private conversation. As soon as they are out of sight, he puts a bullet in the man and hides his body in a nearby ditch. A twinge of guilt kicks in that he just killed a true American hero, but this could be the mission to end all missions and kill Rittenhouse off once and for all, so there is no time to dwell.

Once the body has been hidden, he strolls out of the alley and back to where he left his horse. He rides as hard as he can north towards West Point, careful not to follow too closely and spook the courier. 

**_West Point, New York_ **

When he arrives in West Point, he meets back up with Karl and Anthony. He informs Anthony that he will send word where to meet him with the Mothership later on. Karl is going to accompany him to meet Washington. He needs someone with less scruples that the others for this mission. Things could get a little hairy if Lucy and her team fail to cooperate.

They hide in the shadows of the shrubbery, waiting for the courier to arrive. They need to be extra careful, knowing full well that the Continental soldiers are on high alert.

After what feels like an eternity, he spots the teenaged boy dismount his horse a ways down the road. One of the Continental officers stops the boy and purchases a few oysters from him. He watches intently and notices the boy slipping the letter from his pocket into the pail as he doles out some oysters to the officer.

The boy then proceeds to sell the remainder of his wares to some of the other colonists as the officer makes his way towards the Arnold home. The soldiers wouldn’t be as alert and on guard if Washington wasn’t here yet. _Good. Everything is proceeding the way it should._

He waits until he spots the soldiers leave the Arnold home in pursuit of the wayward General, before he makes his move. He straightens his waistcoat, dusts himself off, then approaches the house cautiously with Karl in tow.

Soldiers intercept them before they can even get across the front lawn. He informs them he is here to see His Excellency in person and that the matter is urgent.

“And you are?” the soldier questions.

“Mr. Austin Roe.”

They don’t wait for long before being ushered into a parlor. Karl nervously paces by the window, but he remains calm as a cucumber. He needs to maintain this farce for as long as he can in order to find Arnold. 

The door opens a moment later and General Washington enters the room. He stands immediately and glares at Karl to stop his incessant pacing. 

“Mr. Roe, it is a pleasure to finally meet you face to face, although I wish it were under more favorable circumstances,” Washington states.

“Your Excellency, I wanted to ensure that the communiqué reached you, so I decided to travel here myself in case the British intercepted it.”

“Thank you, Mr. Roe. Your courage of conviction to the cause is inspiring.”

A knock at the door interrupts them. They inform Washington that Benedict Arnold has successfully slipped through their fingers and defected over to the British garrison stationed nearby. Washington clenches his fist in anger and paces over to the window.

“Your Excellency, if I may,” he begins, “I have sent word for some of my Culper associates to join us here. We will track Arnold down and bring him back to face the hangman’s noose,” he advises.

Washington seems pleased by his announcement. He just hopes Lucy and her team get here soon. He’s chomping at the bit to get his hands on Arnold. He just hopes the treasonous traitor can provide the type of valuable intel on Rittenhouse that he requires.

A commotion on the grounds grabs his attention. He glances over at Karl who nods in acknowledgment. Lucy and her team have arrived. _Show time._

Washington follows his men out the door and confronts Lucy and her team. He turns to Karl, looking the man straight in the eye as he gives his next instruction.

“If a shot goes off when I speak to them, kill Washington.”

Karl nods, not even flinching at the horrific order he’s just been given. Washington reenters the room and asks him to describe the members of his spy ring.

“My group consists of a dark-haired woman, a free black man and a white man with light brown-hair.”

“A woman and a freeman?” Washington questions with uncertainty.

“The three associates that I’ve asked to come may seem slightly unorthodox, Your Excellency, but I assure you they are my best operatives.”

“Alright then.”

“If you don’t mind, may I speak to them momentarily?” he asks.

Washington grants him permission, so he slips into the next room where the team is being held. He pulls his gun as soon as he opens the door, knowing full well that Wyatt will do the same. He’s not foolish enough to leave himself unprotected anyway. Wyatt does not disappoint, leaving the two of them in their familiar alpha male tango. He raises his left hand in an effort to convey he’s not looking for trouble.

“Easy, easy. I’ve got a man in the next room. If shots go off in here, he shoots Washington,” he informs him.

“You’re bluffing,” Wyatt barks back.

“You’re talking to the man who shot Lincoln. You really want to take that risk? Put the gun away.”

 _Not his best moment, but he is more committed to snuffing out Rittenhouse than ever before._ He will do whatever it takes, but right now, he needs to swallow his pride and ask for Lucy’s help. He’ll never find Arnold without her and he doesn’t have much time before Washington comes back.

“I need your help,” he informs them.

“Our help?” Lucy gasps.

“The gun? Please? You really want to risk killing George Washington?” he repeats.

“What the hell is this?” Lucy questions with authority.

“When he comes in, just nod and follow my lead. Or else, I’ll have Washington hang you for treason,” he explains as he lowers his gun and holsters it inside his jacket.

Of course, this jackass still won’t lower his gun. He truly doesn’t have time for Wyatt’s stupidity right now.

“Come on.”

Lucy tries her best to get Wyatt to comply, but as usual, he ignores her. The door opens a moment later and General Washington strides back in the room. Wyatt turns slightly and finally puts his gun away.

“Well….are you who this man says you are?” Washington asks.

Wyatt glances over at him and he’s imploring them with his eyes to agree. He _really_ doesn’t want to have to make Karl shoot Washington.

“Well, that’s a complicated question, sir,” Wyatt replies.

“Yes, yes we are,” Lucy interjects.

He breathes a sigh of relief as he glances over at Lucy. It’s the first crack in her armor that he’s seen. Sure, she’s trusted him enough to have heated conversations with him, but she’s never trusted him enough to work with him. 

“Mr. Roe here says you’re the best spies he’s got in the Culper Ring,” Washington announces.

“Yes, that’s him. Mr. Austin Roe, the _renowned_ Prussian spy,” Lucy replies with a slight bit of sarcasm.

It wouldn’t be perceptible to General Washington and Rufus and Wyatt might not have noticed it either, but he did. Every interaction they have brings him one step closer to his original Lucy. Sure, he’s loved her in every lifetime they’ve had, but to see her again as he did the first time…

The dress she has on right now reminds him of Nassau. It conjures visions of them lying naked together in their bed in the brothel, the air flowing through the windows as they dance on the sea breeze. If only he would have acted quicker there. They could have had a fantastic life together.

“Well, thank God for him. He’s the one who warned me about Arnold’s betrayal, though the bastard still slipped through our fingers,” Washington declares.

He turns to address Rufus directly.

“And you, you’re a freeman?”

“And a hell of a spy. I’m very unassuming,” Rufus boasts.

“I’d like to tell them about the mission,” he states to the General.

Of course Wyatt has to be the first to question everything and it’s not helping Washington trust them any easier. Washington explains that he wants them to go into redcoat territory and capture Benedict Arnold. He tells them to say they were inspired by Arnold’s example. 

“Is there a problem?” Washington asks.

He feels a compulsion to respond immediately, trying desperately to maintain some semblance of control over this tenuous situation. He confirms there is no problem at all and glances over at Lucy for an assist in easing the General’s apprehensions.

“No. No, sir. We’d be glad to help,” Lucy advises.

“Bring him to me…alive. I want to look him in the eye one last time before I hang him,” Washington commands.

They file out of the parlor and into the dining room a minute later, so they can discuss what just happened. He maneuvers himself around the table so that he’s facing the door, the three time team members standing opposite him. _It figures they’re all standing on the opposite side of the table, since they’re literally standing on the wrong side of this war at the moment._ He braces his hands on the back of the chair as the inquisition begins.

“Why would Washington believe you were a spy?” Rufus questions.

“Because even though George Washington trusted Roe, they never actually met face to face. So, where is the real Austin Roe?” Lucy demands.

“Dead in a ditch.”

“You’re a bastard,” she replies.

Normally, that sort of remark from her would cut him to the bone, but not today. Today is the day all this misery and murder ends. 

“What is all this, Flynn?” Wyatt asks.

He really wishes just Lucy and Rufus were here. Dealing with this idiot hurts his brain.

“I need Lucy. She’ll know how to find Arnold. She knows everything about him.”

“Why, so you can help him?” Wyatt whines.

_Of course he would think that._

“Oh, I’m-I’m not gonna to help Arnold. But I’m not taking him back to Washington either. I’m gonna interrogate him, probably beat the hell out of him,” he explains.

“Interrogate him? About what?” Lucy questions with curiosity.

“That key,” he begins as he removes a letter from his breast pocket, “from Bonnie and Clyde opened an interesting door… or clock.”

He drops the letter on the table in front of Lucy. He knows he’s piqued her interest now. There’s no way she can resist finding out what he found. She unfurls the letter and stares down at the page.

“It’s invisible ink,” Lucy advises.

“Read it,” he commands.

“It’s a letter Benedict Arnold wrote. It says something about a Rittenhouse meeting. Are you telling me that Benedict Arnold was a member of Rittenhouse?”

“He wasn’t just _a_ member, he was a founding member. This is the year they began. This is our chance. We’re gonna kill Rittenhouse in the crib. We’re gonna stop them before they ever started,” he announces.

Rufus begins to act squirrely. He knows the reason why, but they don’t have time for this right now. They need to find and capture Arnold.

“We can’t talk about this,” Rufus states.

He gives Rufus the side eye. 

“You’re gonna hunt these people down and you want _us_ to help you?” Lucy questions with incredulity.

“We can’t talk about this!” Rufus declares emphatically to Lucy.

“Why, because of your secret little recorder? What? You don’t think I know? Okay, I’ll make this easy. You help me, here, now, and I’ll hand over the keys to the Mothership. All yours. After all, once Rittenhouse is gone, why would I keep taking these godforsaken trips?”

“You’re talking about killing people, changing history,” Lucy chides.

“One last time and then it’s over. That, or you keep chasing me and I change history a hundred more times or we can _end_ this Lucy…now once and for all,” he yells as he slams his fist on the table.

 _Why do the three of them always have to be so difficult?_ He can sense the anger swelling within him, but he remains in control. He needs to remain in control or they’ll never agree to help him.

The frustration is mounting, so he reaches into his right breast pocket and pulls out Lucy’s journal. He rips out a few pages, telling Lucy it’s a show of faith and she should see in her own words how bad Rittenhouse truly is. He holds the pages out to her like a lifeline. He’s silently begging her to take the pages, begging her to believe him. _Please, please let her believe._

Lucy snatches the pages from his hand.

“You’re so full of crap it’s coming out of your ears. We’re not gonna help you. Not after everything we’ve been through,” Wyatt advises.

“I figured you’d say that. So, I’m sweetening the pot. You help me and I’ll tell you what happened on Portero Road, mile marker forty-seven. That’s right. I’ll give you the name of your wife’s killer.”

He can see the rage visible in Wyatt’s face. What he doesn’t understand is why he’s still hesitating. If anyone had given him the opportunity to learn the identity of his wife and daughter’s killer, he would’ve sprang at the chance. 

Wyatt goes through his usual nonsense, informing him there’s no way he could have that sort of information.

“I’m not some local cop, Wyatt. I’ve still got some friends in the right places. There was blood on the scene right that wasn’t Jessica’s that they never matched. Well, I know whose it was. So, you help me get Benedict Arnold, no more Rittenhouse,” he states as he glares at Rufus. “No more chasing me through time,” he informs Lucy. “Your wife’s killer found. Everybody wins.”

They reluctantly agree to this plan of his and file out of the house. The three of them move over to the side to discuss the matter, while he strolls over to a group of Continental soldiers and informs them what to do. The time team’s not going to like it, but it’s realistically the only way to convince the British that they’re _actually_ defectors.

He tells the team it’s time to go and leads them to the wood-lined road that will take them to the British garrison. As the Continental soldiers chase them down the path and fire, he ensures that Lucy is close by and out of harm’s way as much as possible. 

“Do they have to make it look so real?” Rufus whines.

They yell loudly not to shoot and drop to the ground as the British return fire. They inform the British soldiers that they need to speak to General Arnold and are escorted to a home they’re using as a makeshift headquarters. Next, they are led into the foyer and watch as the world’s most famous traitor hobbles towards them.

“Okay, Lucy, you're up,” he states in a half-whisper.

“General Arnold.”

“You asked to see me?” Arnold questions.

“General Clinton sent us,” Lucy explains.

“We are loyalists, sir. Inspired by your example,” he adds nervously.

He can’t wait to get his hands on this guy and find out what he knows about Rittenhouse. He’s like a kid on Christmas morning at this point, but he’s going to let Lucy work her magic first. No one can resist her, no one.

“Is that so?” Arnold asks.

“We have covert information for you about Washington's troop movements,” he informs Arnold.

“I received no word from General Clinton.”

“Clinton was supposed to send it,” Lucy replies.

She moves closer to Arnold and begins whispering.

“Confidentially, you and I both know General Clinton can be a bit erratic. Perhaps a touch of his mother's lunacy? And, you've met this man before,” she states as she gestures towards Wyatt.

He has no clue where she’s going with this, but he trusts her implicitly, even if she doesn’t trust him. Lucy explains the General fought with Wyatt at Ridgefield and served under Colonel Lamb. Wyatt, for once, catches on quickly and follows her lead.

Arnold moves closer to inspect Wyatt, his eyes narrowing as he tries to recall meeting him.

“Yes, I think I remember after all.”

Arnold opens the door to the parlor and grants them entry. He introduces them as loyalists to the cause to Earl Cornwallis. Arnold questions what troop movements they’re privy to and he tries his best to speak to Arnold in private. 

“These are trustworthy men. Say what you've come to say,” Arnold insists.

“We've defected because of your example, General. We'd prefer to speak only with you,” Lucy responds.

“Well, Madam, I'm not sure you're in any place to make that decision,” Arnold counters.

“Come on!” he exclaims.

His last bit of patience has flown right out the window. They don’t have time for this stupid bickering. He reaches into his jacket pocket, pulls his gun out and shoots Cornwallis. Cornwallis drops to the floor and he spins and takes out another British officer.

“What the hell?” Wyatt yells.

Arnold tries to make a run for it, but his bad leg makes it easy for Wyatt to grab and subdue him.

“You just killed Cornwallis. In twenty years, he's supposed to negotiate the peace treaty between Britain and Napoleon,” Lucy exclaims.

He crouches down and checks to make sure Cornwallis is in fact dead.

“So, history will find someone else. You see one redcoat, you've seen them all. Big deal.”

He strides back across the room, pacing like a caged lion. He just wants to get his hands on the traitor. He doesn’t care about preserving history right now. He cares about taking down Rittenhouse and nothing else.

“It's a _very_ big deal,” Lucy clarifies.

Wyatt ties up Arnold and props him up in a chair so that he can be interrogated.

“You're Washington's men?” Arnold questions.

He crosses his arms across his body and smugly looks down at him.

“No, no, no. Washington's men never find you. Actually, you're meant to get away scot-free, live a comfortable life in England,” he chuckles.

“Then, who are you?”

“Honestly?”

He looks back at Lucy and Wyatt, then turns back to Arnold.

“We're, uh, time travelers from the year 2016 who came all the way here just to meet you.”

Arnold starts laughing and so does he. It sounds completely insane, so he can’t blame the man one bit. 

“You're mad,” Arnold replies.

“Yeah. It doesn't matter who we are. What matters is what we need to know about Rittenhouse.”

Naturally, Arnold denies even knowing what he’s talking about, but he’s prepared for that. He whips out the letter Arnold wrote to his wife and shows it to him. 

“This is your handwriting, isn't it? ‘Today I met some gentlemen with a great vision for America: Rittenhouse. They're recruiting worthy men and have sought me out,’” he recites.

Arnold denies writing the letter and Wyatt is fast to imply that they could easily jog his memory. _Thanks, but no one needs your help here._

“Beat me to death, have Washington hang me. I don't know what you're talking about,” Arnold confirms.

Lucy moves and sits down next to Arnold. She glances up at him, silently pleading for him to back off, so he does. If he doesn’t, he’s not going to be able to control his anger much longer. As usual, Lucy’s lightest touch is enough to pry the information from him. She goes into a lengthy tirade of how she can understand his betrayal of Washington, his financial support of the patriot cause and his brilliance and tenacity in battle, even when wounded. Arnold still isn’t spilling the beans, so Lucy digs deeper.

“But when it came time for your promotion to Major General, the promotion that you earned, Congress just passed you over, didn't they? And, what did Washington do for you? Nothing.  
And so, you betrayed him, you betrayed everything that you once believed in. But for what? Pride?”

“He betrayed me,” Arnold responds angrily. “He was my brother and he abandoned me. But, Rittenhouse, he's gonna give me the future that I deserve. And no one, not you, not anyone, will stop us,” Arnold proclaims.

He picks up on it right away, but he’s not sure the others have. His head snaps to Lucy, then the others. They all appear to be as stunned as he is.

“Wait. Did you just say he?” Wyatt asks.

“The man you're asking about, David Rittenhouse.”

“Rittenhouse isn't a _they_ , it's one person?” Rufus questions.

“He has more followers every day, but yes,” Arnold responds.

 _Holy shit! It’s been one man this entire damn time?_ _How the hell did he not figure that out sooner? He should’ve picked up on some sign, some clue. How much death and destruction would have been avoided had he known?_

The next thing he knows, Lucy is striding across the room towards him. She whispers to him, but loud enough that the rest of them can still here. She questions whether he knew this information. He informs her he didn’t, nor was there anything written about it in her journal.

“What journal? What are you talking about?” Arnold questions.

“Introduce us to him,” he commands.

“A woman? A Negro? You're insane. He'd see her in his bed and him in the fields,” Arnold snaps.

“You will introduce us to him,” he declares.

“And, why would I ever do that?”

He gets down on one knee so he can speak to this bastard eye to eye. He calmly informs him that Washington will execute his wife for his treason if they haven’t returned with him in three days.

“So, take us to Rittenhouse and save your wife.”

For some reason, that seems to get through to Arnold.

“The things we all do for love,” he mutters.

He stares at his feet as he says it. He doesn’t dare look Lucy’s way, because it will break him right now and he can’t afford to break right now; not when he’s so close to ending this; not when it’s just one more man he needs to kill. Love is the reason he’s ever done any of the horrible things he has. It doesn’t matter whether it was his love of Iris, or Lorena, or Lucy. He loves them all more than his own life and he always will.

He accompanies Arnold upstairs so that he can change his redcoat, since it would be suspicious to show up at the meeting with Rittenhouse covered in blood. He has to be the one to do it, because he’s not letting his only opportunity out of his sight until he meets the architect of evil himself: David Rittenhouse.

Arnold changes his coat and he escorts him back downstairs where the team is waiting for them. They all clamor out the door and into the wagon, setting off for Chez Rittenhouse, but not before he sends one of the servants to deliver a message back to his associate waiting at Arnold’s house. He needs to make sure that Karl knows exactly where to have Anthony land the mothership to pick him up.

He drives the wagon towards the plantation with Arnold right next to him. He’d handcuff the bastard to him if he could. Lucy is sitting behind him, which actually serves a dual purpose. First and foremost, she’s the biggest distraction he’s ever seen in thousands of lives. Secondly, he doesn’t trust that Wyatt won’t put a bullet in the back of his brain if he’s sitting there, but he knows Lucy won’t. Wyatt would be screwing himself over and would never find out the name of his wife’s killer, but the boy isn’t the brightest bulb in the box so he takes the precaution nonetheless.

They’ve been riding for a while when he notices a stream that runs along the side of the road. Knowing full well they could use some water as well as the horses, he reins them in and brings them to a stop. He takes the bucket down to the stream and begins to fill it for the horses. He fills it up, then brings it back to the wagon.

He can feel Lucy’s presence at his back, like a specter surveying the mortal from afar. It’s apropos really, since she’s been haunting his every waking hour pretty much since he was exiled from Atlantis all those years ago. He holds the bucket for the horses, gently whispering to them as he does.

“You know about horses?” Lucy asks suddenly.

She’s never casually chatted with him about anything other than Rittenhouse-related activities, so the fact that she’s making this sort of effort doesn’t go unnoticed.

“I wanted to be a cowboy growing up. You ever heard of, uh, Tex Willer comics? He had a horse named Dynamite. They protected the good guys against the bad guys,” he states with a smile.

It brings back good memories. His mother might have always been sad when he was a child, but his childhood was a happy one; at least in this lifetime it was. Plus, he’s always protected the good guys. Even when he was a pirate, he protected his misfit crew, he protected the girls at the brothel, and he protected Lucy. 

She’s staring at him strangely and he can’t help but move closer to her. He barely registers his feet on the ground. When he’s around her, it’s as if he’s floating on a cloud. Just like she always has, she draws him in like a moth to a flame.

“I hate to be a told-you-so, but, um, the journal did say something about you and me working together?”

“Don't push your luck,” Lucy states firmly.

“Fair enough.”

There’s an awkward pause between them and he’s not really sure what else to say. He tried to strike up a conversation, but she rebuffed him. 

“Say we do this; that we really take out Rittenhouse. Then, what will you do?” Lucy asks.

He should have known Lucy wasn’t done probing him quite yet. It’s that brilliant brain of hers always thinking, always analyzing everything.

“Go home to my family. They'll be alive again. Let my little girl jump into my arms. Hug my wife. And then, say goodbye and walk away forever.”

Of course he’ll check in on all of them to make sure that they’re safe periodically, including her, but none of them will ever know it. Losing Iris changed him in a way that fundamentally altered the man he was and he’ll never be able to rid himself of that pain, even if he manages to save his little girl.

“What? You would just-you would just leave them after all that we've been through?”

“Chasing Rittenhouse, I've done horrible things…become something else. How can I bring that into my home? What kind of husband or-or a father can I be after what I've done?” he replies.

Thoughts of the monster he has become erases the smile he’s wearing. Some of the things he’s done have been monstrous, like killing Lincoln. He’d do even more monstrous things if it meant that he could save his girls.

Lucy glances over at him with pity. Pity. Pity is the last thing he wants from Lucy, the last thing he needs from her. What he truly needs is her trust and support, now more than ever. It’s definitely a new and strange feeling. She’s never looked at him like that. He’s used to her love and admiration, or even as a puzzle for her put together, a code she needs to decipher, but not pity.

“We should keep moving,” Wyatt calls from the back of the wagon.

They all climb back into the wagon and the slog along towards the Rittenhouse plantation. Normally, Wyatt’s interruptions usually annoy him, but this time he’s actually glad. It gave him the opportunity to speak to Lucy one-on-one. 

As they get close to the plantation, he wants to get a lay of the land before he pulls up in the wagon. He would never go into the lion’s den without trying to get a sense of what he’s about to deal with. He drags Arnold with him as they climb up a nearby hill. With his binoculars in hand, he notices that there are quite a large number of slaves on the grounds. 

“Where'd you get a spyglass like that?” Arnold questions.

“I told you. The future.”

He also doesn’t fail to detect the armed men patrolling the grounds. _That could definitely be a problem._ He doesn’t want to have to shoot his way out of here, but he will.

“Those men know you?” he asks.

“I'll introduce you as volunteers, tell Rittenhouse you're patriots who've lost faith in the cause like me. But, I suggest we don't bring everyone to the party.”

He glares at him and frowns. He knows exactly who Arnold is referring to and it angers him. Rufus is more brilliant than the lot of these morons combined.

“These are idiotic, unenlightened times, but I understand. We'll leave Rufus behind.”

They head back to the wagon and make their way to the plantation sans Rufus. They encounter no trouble whatsoever getting inside and are led to a parlor where a young boy is waiting. The room is furnished in the typical fashion of the day, except for the overabundance of clocks. They tick and chime in an incessant manner, as well as serve as a constant reminder that time is not a luxury for them right now.

The young boy greets the General, who inquires if his father is at home.

“Lot of clocks,” Wyatt muses.

 _No shit, Captain Obvious._

“Father made them. He's teaching me to make them too. He's fascinated with time,” John replies.

The entire team glances at each other, all too familiar with Rittenhouse’s obsession with time. Arnold repeats his question to John, then chides the inquisitive child for asking about the details of their visit. Arnold informs the boy that this is not a conversation for him.

Lucy strolls over to John as he’s sitting at a desk toying with a clock. He moves behind them and eavesdrops on their conversation. It’s not something he would normally do, but the child may have information that could be useful in the fight.

“Is that your clock?” Lucy asks.

“Yes, but I can't seem to get the ratchet wheel to work. Father says I'm not paying enough attention.”

“Looks like you're doing a fine job. It's a beautiful clock,” Lucy advises.

“My father says that peasants are like the hands of a clock. Around and around they go.”

“What does that mean?” Lucy questions.

“Because a peasant is no more capable of choosing his own path than the hands of a clock.”

 _Of course your evil-ass father would think that._ This poor boy’s mind has already been poisoned by his father’s machinations.

“Well who chooses the path for them?”

“The clockmaker, of course,” John responds nonchalantly.

“And, are the members of Rittenhouse the clockmakers?”

“No one else can do it. Father says monarchies are too selfish and democracies are too chaotic,” John answers.

Lucy prods the child some more, trying to interrogate him in a manner that won’t raise any red flags. She questions if Rittenhouse are part of the government. John advises that it’s not necessary because control is all that matters, but it’s best exercised from the shadows. Without even knowing it, this boy is slowly confirming everything he’s known and tried to convey to the Time Team since the Hindenburg.

“What about the people that want a voice in how they're controlled?” Wyatt questions.

“Peasants can't govern themselves any more than ants can rule the jungle. Most peasants want nothing more than the illusion of a voice. Father says that's what democracy's for.”

“What you're describing sounds like tyranny disguised as democracy,” Lucy advises.

“Father believes there's no other choice.”

“What do you believe, John?”

“No one's ever asked me that before,” John replies with confusion.

The door flies open a moment later and none other than David Rittenhouse enters the parlor. Arnold informs Rittenhouse that John was just telling his friends about him.

“Yes, Father. They want to join.”

The old man appears skeptical and comments that Arnold has never brought him recruits before. David squints his eyes as he glances over at Lucy.

“May I get a better look at you? My eyes aren't what they used to be.”

John comes back over to the table and takes Lucy’s hand.

“Go on. Father wants to examine you.”

The words make his stomach turn. _Examine her?_ _What is she a specimen under a microscope?_ Lucy doesn’t seem to be very enthused either, but she reluctantly gets up and goes over to Rittenhouse. The next thing he knows, Rittenhouse grabs her chin hard and opens her mouth. It takes all the restraint he has not to grab ahold of this old man and throttle him into next Tuesday.

“You have good, strong teeth. Good skull proportion.”

“Stop,” Lucy pleads.

He’s ready to pull a Cornwallis on this pervert in two seconds. _How dare he speak to and touch Lucy in that way!_

“Your hips are a bit narrow, but nobody's perfect. Have you reproduced yet?”

He can taste the bile creeping up his esophagus right now. _What sort of monster asks a woman a question like that?_

“No.”

“Good.”

Rittenhouse nods at his men and suddenly he’s on the wrong end of a pistol. Wyatt is also being held at gunpoint and one of Rittenhouse’s goons is brandishing a knife to Lucy’s throat.

“Wyatt.”

He knows it’s logical that she’s calling for Wyatt, but a part of his already broken heart fractures even further. In any other life, she’d be calling for him.

Arnold demands to know what’s going on and the unholy pervert is eager to explain his actions.

“These men are here to kill me.”

“You’ve got this all wrong,” he interjects.

“Really? The sweat on her brow. The hand near your pocket, where I assume you have a pistol. This isn't the first time I've seen that look on a man's face, believe me. You mean me harm.”

Rittenhouse slithers back over to where Lucy is standing. Her breathing is heavy and her eyes wide with fear.

“But don't worry, my dear. We'll still find a good use for you.”

He vomits a little bit inside his mouth. He doesn’t care about his own life or Wyatt’s for that matter, but the idea of Lucy being this depraved man’s sex slave for the indefinite future is more than he can bear. That is not her fate, not after all the misery they’ve both endured. He’ll die trying to save her if it’s the last thing he does.

The bastard’s goons disarm Wyatt and himself and Rittenhouse picks up and inspects one of the weapons.

“What an ingenious pistol. I've never seen its equal.”

General Arnold starts to plead his ignorance of their intentions, but Rittenhouse isn’t buying it for a second. He mocks Arnold, then brings up his father’s drinking issues, his poor education and his vanity.

“David, please. After everything I've done for you?” Arnold pleads.

“You're an idiot, Benedict. So blinded by your wounded pride that you brought these people into my house to kill me.”

Arnold continues to beg, stating again that it was a mistake and that he can still be trusted. Rittenhouse reminds him of his betrayal of his best friend, Washington, and laughs about trusting him.

A second later, Rittenhouse unloads the clip into Arnold, killing him in such a cavalier manner it makes what he’s done appear as child’s play.

“Where did you get this?” Rittenhouse questions with awe.

None of them are going to respond to his question and none of them are at a loss to know the potential dangers of leaving such a weapon in this man’s hands.

“No, no. Don't worry. I'm a clockmaker. I'll figure it out.”

Rittenhouse then instructs his young son to watch as he executes him and Wyatt. His goons force the both of them to their knees. If Lucy wasn’t here, he’s pretty confident that he and Wyatt could potentially pull a maneuver and disarm them. But, neither of them are willing to put Lucy’s life on the line like that when she still has a knife to her throat.

“You two are sentenced to death. But _you_ are to be brought to my bedchamber,” Rittenhouse states to Lucy with a lascivious smirk.

Lucy struggles with her captor, but he drags her out of the room a moment later. He doesn’t need to look over at Wyatt. They both know that one of two scenarios is about to happen. Either they make a move, potentially providing one of them the opportunity to survive, or they’re both executed like wounded animals. Unfortunately, the second scenario seems to be the most likely at this point.

Guilt wracks his soul for abandoning Lucy to such a dreadful fate. Honestly, he’d rather she suffer the same fate as the two of them than live her life essentially as a slave. He’s been a slave and knows the horrors of what that entails. Plus, Lucy was already enslaved by the Romans back in Germania. No one deserves to have it happen in one lifetime, let alone two.

Unexpectedly, the door bursts open and Rufus enters the parlor with a rifle in his hands. He shouts to get the goons’ attention, then fires his weapon before running for cover. It’s the distraction both he and Wyatt were searching for and allows them the chance to take their attackers head on. They wrangle the pistols from the goons’ hands and begin picking them off one by one.

Lucy bursts back through the door just as he knocks out the last goon with a punch to the face. Rittenhouse is still alive, but not for long if he can help it. He stalks towards the smug bastard, putting a bullet into the goon he just knocked out for good measure.

“Killing me won't change anything. There are others. This will outlive me, you, all of us. Rittenhouse will become-”

He doesn’t afford him the courtesy of finishing his sentence before he squeezes the trigger.

“You did it. You actually did it,” Rufus mutters aloud.

A wave of relief floods over him, but it’s not complete. There’s still one more heinous act of murder to commit, as loathsome as it may be. He never thought anything that ever spewed out of General Keynos’ mouth back in Atlantis would come in handy, but his barbaric statement now feels as if it is ancient wisdom. _“Never leave behind a man, woman or child that can pick up a sword against you.”_

“Where's the boy?”

“What the-the boy? What do you mean the boy?” Lucy questions.

“The boy's gone. His son, he escaped.”

“Are you saying that you want to kill his son?” Lucy gasps.

“I don't _want_ to, but we need to. You heard. He believes the same things as his father.”

“You already killed Rittenhouse. There's no need to kill the boy,” Wyatt chimes in.

He doesn’t even hear what they’re saying. He is aware that they are speaking, but the rage is full-blown out of control right now. The bull is seeing red and it doesn’t matter how many capes the matadors flash in front of his eyes. There is nothing that can stop him now.

He starts tearing the room apart, desperate to find John Rittenhouse. 

“Flynn.”

This time he registers his name. Rational thought is one again a reality, but it comes with the realization that this is something he needs to accomplish on his own.

He moves quickly for the door, shutting it directly in Lucy’s face. He grabs the nearest object he can, which just happens to be a candlestick, and shoves it through the door handles causing an obstruction. It won’t hold them for very long, so a head start is the best he can hope for.

He runs through the first floor of the house as quickly as he can, but doesn’t find John. He doesn’t believe the boy would have fled to the upper floors, so he decides to search the grounds. He draws his weapon, partly so he can defend himself if Rittenhouse has any more goons lurking outside, and partly to be ready to do the unthinkable.

As he rounds the bend around a discarded piece of equipment, he detects the faintest sounds of sobbing. He spins on his heels and spots John crouched under the wooden structure. John begins to beg him for his life. The boy pleads over and over again not to kill him. 

He moves closer, his finger perching on the trigger. He’s killed a thousand times before, but this time, this time he can’t pull the trigger. His face contorts in agony and his marble façade crumbles. He yells out in his torment, then turns and strides a few paces. He takes multiple deep breaths, closes his eyes and spins back around. He’s just going to have to do it without looking. He can’t look. He needs to line up his shot, so he opens his eyes and finds Lucy acting as a human shield in front of John.

He groans and sighs in annoyance, then gestures to the side with his gun.

“Move.”

“No.”

“Move!” he screams.

“No! I'm not letting you kill a child.”

“He's all that's left of Rittenhouse,” he pleads.

“You don't know that. He said that there were others. You don't know that killing his son will change anything.”

He argues to her that John wants everything his father wanted and that he’ll do terrible things in the future. Lucy counters that he wanted to be a cowboy when he was twelve, that people change and that he doesn’t know for sure what John will become. The urge to grab her and shake some sense into her is overwhelming. At their core, most people don’t change, even over lifetimes. They’re both living proof of that. If he relates this information though, she’ll really think he’s gone mad. He can’t explain anything to her. In fact, now that she’s safely away from David Rittenhouse, he plans to go back to his original intention of letting her go in this lifetime. 

The expression of disappointment and determination on Lucy’s face is wearing down his wall. He turns around, unable to face her right now.

“You have a choice right now! We all have choices! We can decide-we can decide to be something different,” Lucy advises.

_Yes, darling, we have choices, but we can’t choose to be something that fate hasn’t chosen for us. And fate has told him over and over again that he’s a killer._

He turns back towards her and stalks over.

“Please, no, please. Please don't do this, please. Please. You-you said that you couldn't be a father after what you've done.”

_He was never meant to be a husband or a father. He’s never been able to keep anyone he’s ever loved safe. He doesn’t deserve another chance._

He grabs Lucy by the wrist. He doesn’t want to hurt her, but he needs to move her out of harm’s way. 

“But you can, okay? You can. You can go back, but not if you do this. Please, please!” Lucy begs.

He bares his teeth like a caged animal.

“Get out of my way,” he spits angrily.

He tosses her to the side without letting go of her wrist and aims his weapon. To his shock, John is no longer there. Lucy is crying, which is upsetting him even more. He scans the area searching for the boy.

“John? John!” he calls out.

“He's gone.”

She looks so proud of herself and it’s enraging him right now. 

“Come here!” he commands as he yanks her closer to him.

“What? No. Where are you taking me?”

“I thought you understood what was at stake. Come here!”

He drags her back down the wood-lined path towards a clearing in the distance. The Mothership appears before their eyes. Lucy is screaming for Wyatt the entire time. He tunes it out completely. This would be over if she didn’t stop him, so now she’s going to have to help him. He hoists her up and into Karl’s waiting arms, climbs up himself, then shuts the hatch. He makes sure he straps Lucy in properly before they jump back to the present.


	18. Chicago

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flynn decides to force Lucy to help him in his fight against Rittenhouse.

When they land back in the present, he orders his men to guard Lucy while he gathers the necessary firepower for another foray into 1780. He’s a raging inferno at the present, so he avoids dealing with Lucy so that he doesn’t lose control and do something he’ll regret even more than kidnapping her. 

When he’s ready to jump again, he stalks over to where his men are holding her and demands she search through history and find John Rittenhouse. She opens her mouth to protest his demand, but he slams his hand onto the desk, causing her to jump in fear. 

The second he turns to board the Mothership, the guilt kicks in for scaring the daylights out of her. He shakes the thought from his head and returns to his usual steely exterior. He’ll just go back and fix the mess Lucy just made, killing both Rittenhouse men with one fell swoop.

Of course, his plan goes completely awry and he’s forced to return to the present no closer to eradicating Rittenhouse from existence than he was before. The ride from 1780 New York back to the present doesn’t take long, but it’s long enough for him to stave off the rage he’s currently experiencing. It’s not conducive to eliciting Lucy’s help anyway.

The Mothership lands and the hatch opens. He’s the first one out of his seat and down the stairs. Lucy is sitting right where he left her, which hopefully means that she didn’t cause any trouble while he was gone.

“What happened?” Lucy asks as she stands up, only for his man to push her back down into the chair. “Git,” Lucy utters as she swats the man’s hands away.

He strolls over to lord directly over her, then bends down so they’re at an equal eye level. He’s trying to maintain his composure, but he’s visibly angry.

“Oh, I’ll tell you what happened. I went back to that damn compound, to fix the mess you made, to kill Rittenhouse and his son. I never got even close! Didn’t have Benedict Arnold to get me through the door. Even my semi-automatics were nothing against fifty muskets. So, my family’s still dead…and Rittenhouse survived. _And_ , it’s your fault.”

He has never been angrier at her in any of their previous lifetimes. If she only knew what was at stake; his precious little girl.

“I told you they had other followers. We don’t know if killing that boy would’ve changed anything,” Lucy replies.

He explodes. He can’t help it.

“It could have changed _everything_!”

He’s struggling with his feelings more than ever right now. He knows deep down that Lucy is a good person. He’s already resigned his soul to hell for what he was planning to do. Lucy stopped him because she was trying to save him from himself, but it doesn’t make him feel any better.

He huffs and turns around, pacing slightly, then turns back to Lucy.

“Okay! So, we’ll just find that brat when he’s a few years older. So, where is he? Where’s John Rittenhouse?”

John escaping is a problem, but he has a time machine. The boy can’t hide for forever.

“I don’t know,” Lucy answers.

“Well then, find him!”

_She can do anything she puts her mind to. Over and over again, she’s proven that._

“There’s _no_ record of him _anywhere_! You _shot_ his father! You tried to kill him. I’m sure he went deep underground. He changed his name,” Lucy advises.

It hits him like a ton of bricks. The one chance he had to end this quickly, to save his family with the least amount of carnage possible. It’s gone. And, it’s because of the one woman he loves more than anything in this world.

“This was our only shot,” he mutters.

It’s taking everything in him to contain his anger and regroup. He bends back down to speak to Lucy. He needs to impress upon her what she’s done.

“All this would’ve been over,” he states menacingly.

He doesn’t mean it to come out like that, but he’s seething inside. Lucy shutters in fear from him. He has to turn away. He’s just so angry right now. He doesn’t want to take the chance he’ll lose control. 

“Just get her up!” he orders.

His man grabs ahold of Lucy and begins dragging her towards the ship. Lucy struggles, but to no avail.

“No, wait. Wait! Where are you-where are you taking me?” Lucy questions.

He closes the gap between them and stares into her eyes.

“I wanted to do this the easy way, but you left me no choice. So, _now_ , I’m gonna take down Rittenhouse one member at a time,” he declares.

He pauses and gets even closer.

“For as long as it takes,” he states in an almost-whisper.

He orders his man to escort her into a smaller room of the abandoned church. It’s about the size of a closet, which he knows will trigger Lucy’s claustrophobia, but he doesn’t care right now. He locks her inside and goes to the room he’s been using as his private quarters. 

He strolls over to the corner and opens up a large, heavy trunk. He scrounges through its contents for a moment, before finding the item he’s looking for. His fingers graze over the fabric of the burgundy dress with a hint of melancholy and nostalgia. He glances back down at the trunk full of women’s clothing from different historical periods and sighs. He had purchased each dress with Lucy in mind. He didn’t want her to have nothing to wear or have to steal clothes from someone in the past if they ever became the team she had teased about in São Paulo. He would’ve just brought her in here to change, but if Lucy ever saw this trunk of clothing, he’d have a hell of a time trying to explain it to her without sounding like a deranged lunatic or creepy pervert.

He slams the lid to the trunk shut and changes into his 1893 clothes before leaving the room. He stomps back down to the supply closet and unlocks it to find a panicking Lucy. He tosses the dress at her and orders her to get changed, before shutting the door to give her privacy. He purposefully doesn’t lock the door though, so she doesn’t feel trapped.

Lucy bangs on the door a few minutes later to advise him she’s finished changing. He opens the door and his heart skips a beat. The burgundy dress fits her perfectly, accentuating her curves in a way that stokes his arousal like never before. He catches himself staring with his mouth agape and slams it shut.

“I need to put my hair up,” she informs him.

His brain fails to summon up a response, so he just nods his head and leads her to the bathroom. A few minutes later, Lucy emerges appearing more like herself than she had been earlier, which pleases him. He’s still angry, but he knows he won’t stay like that for long, especially with her. 

He ushers her back into the sanctuary where the Mothership is being stored. He waits until his men have all boarded the ship before advising Lucy to climb on up. He straps her into her chair despite her protestations otherwise and then the Mothership jumps.

**_May 30, 1893, Chicago, Illinois_ **

He exits the Lifeboat, then helps Lucy down, even though she tries to swat his hands away. Karl accompanies them as they make their way into the city. Night has fallen, but the lights of the World’s Fair guide their way. 

He threads his arm through hers and the two of them stroll in the night air as they have so many lifetimes ago. It _feels_ right, even if he’s still angry with her. 

The lights from the fair dance off her ivory skin like stars in the night sky. She looks radiant in that burgundy dress he bought her. 

“Chicago World’s Fair. That’s the very first Ferris wheel, right? We’re not here to burn it down, if that’s what you’re worried about,” he informs her.

She makes a quip that she’s certain he intends to do something equally as horrible. 

“At about 4pm tomorrow, there’s gonna to be a very important meeting between Thomas Edison, Henry Ford and J.P. Morgan,” he advises.

Lucy has been staring straight ahead this whole time. She won’t even look at him. The space between them has never been greater; a giant chasm of bitterness.

“I’m gonna kill them all…and you’re gonna help me.”

Lucy’s head snaps up and their eyes meet. She’s staring at him with an expression of shock and surprise at first, then disbelief and disdain.

“They’re all a part of Rittenhouse.”

Lucy takes a step forward and he grabs her arm. Karl moves to go after her as well.

“Hey!” he calls out as he pulls her back towards him. 

He hates getting “handsy” with her; hates it with every fiber of his being. _She can be so stubborn sometimes._

A couple passing by starts paying _way_ too much attention to them, so he pulls her closer and chuckles.

“Honey.”

She shoots him a glare. He has to admit, they do appear to be a normal, married couple in the middle of a quarrel. 

He pulls her even closer to him and speaks directly into her ear.

“I would think long and hard before you turn me down.”

“What happened to all that talk of needing me? About us fighting side by side?” she retorts.

_He wants that more than anything, has been trying for that since the damn Hindenberg, and she’s going to throw that back in his face now?_

He pulls the journal out of his pocket. He’s not sure why he does it, he just knows he feels calmer when it’s in his hands.

“You wrote in here,” he states as he taps the journal in his hand, “that one day we would stop Rittenhouse, _together._ And, that day came and you wouldn’t help me. You let Rittenhouse live.”

He’s tried every other way he knows to get her to work with him. This is his last ditch effort. He can’t keep letting her interfere. He’s getting further and further away from getting his family back and that’s the whole reason he’s doing this in the first place.

Sadness and regret for what might have been creep into him. He really wanted this. He prayed for this. 

“I really thought we were gonna do great things,” he states softly.

He takes a deep breath and continues.

“But, maybe I was wrong about this journal, maybe-maybe I was wrong about you.”

It’s killing him to even utter the words. He’s always been able to get her to see eye to eye with him. _Why-why can’t he do it now?_

She won’t even look at him right now. She’s just as mad as he is. He can see it written across her face.

Finally, she lifts her head up and glances over at him.

“Maybe you were wrong about a lot of things,” she declares.

“Well then, maybe we’re not meant to be a team after all. And, you know what? If that’s true, that makes you expendable. So, what’s it gonna be, Lucy? Are you gonna help me or not?”

She still will not answer him. 

He huffs loudly, then weaves his arm in hers and directs her towards a hotel up the street. She’s walking stiffly next to him and he doesn’t want to drag her, but he will if he has to. They enter the establishment and stroll over to the counter.

“Good evening, Sir. Welcome to the Palmer House,” the young man at the counter practically sings.

“Good evening. I’d like to get a room for me and my wife and one for my friend here,” he states as he gestures towards Karl.

“That will be $5.00 for each room, Sir.”

He pays the man and receives the keys, then guides Lucy towards the elevator. Their room is on the 4th floor, so the ride is nice and short. The elevator dings loudly and the doors open. Lucy shuffles out and down the hallway like a zombie. He has to grab her arm and pull her back as she walks right past the room.

He hands Karl the key to his room next door.

“I’ve got her. I’ll see you in the morning. We have a lot to do tomorrow before the meeting.”

Karl nods in acknowledgment, then disappears into his room. 

He opens the door, but Lucy doesn’t move. He gently guides her into the room with a slight shove to her lower back, shuts the door and locks it. When he turns, Lucy is standing in the middle of the room with her arms wrapped around herself.

“Get some rest. Tomorrow’s gonna be a long day,” he suggests.

She huffs loudly and plops down on the side of the bed. She reaches up and removes the pins from her hair, allowing her luscious locks to cascade around her shoulders. She has no idea what she’s doing to him right now, but he has to avert his eyes. If he doesn’t, he won’t be able to hide his growing state of interest.

“Take off the dress,” he murmurs. 

“What?”

“That-that came out wrong. You’ll be more comfortable if you take off that dress,” he elaborates.

She eyes him warily, but stands back up and begins to unbutton the gazillion buttons on the dress. She clears her throat loudly and he spins around in an instant.

“Sorry, Lucy.”

“You can turn back around,” she informs him.

When he turns, she is climbing into the bed in just her shift. The urge to crawl in next to her is overwhelming right now, so he forces himself to sit down in the chair near the window. He really wishes he had a stiff drink at the moment, but he needs to keep his wits about him whenever Lucy is around. He places his gun on the table next to him, then shuts out the light.

“Goodnight, Lucy.”

She doesn’t answer him, but he hears her snuggle under the covers. The moon provides the room’s only source of illumination, but it doesn’t shade her beauty whatsoever. He watches her sleep for a little while, then stares blankly out the window at the night sky. 

The next thing he knows, he feels a hand on his shoulder. He jumps slightly, then realizes the hand belongs to Lucy. 

“There has to be another way, Flynn.”

“We’ve been over this. There is no other way. And, you’re not getting out of this tomorrow. You _are_ going to help me,” he responds gruffly.

Lucy traces her finger up his arm towards his shoulder. He closes his eyes for a moment, reveling in her touch, when he suddenly feels her lunge for his gun on the table. He grabs her wrist hard and snaps it back as his other hand takes control of the gun.

“Big mistake, Lucy!”

She scowls back at him as he pushes her towards the bed. There’s this strange sexual undercurrent palpable in the room right now, but she’d most definitely shoot him if he gave into that thought process. He shoves her down on the bed and looms over her.

“Don’t make me tie you to the bed,” he warns.

“You never know, I might like it!” she barks back angrily.

_She most definitely would if they were actually together in this lifetime. He’s pretty sure about that._

She tries to get up again, but he grabs her wrist and handcuffs it to the bedframe. She yells, whines and complains, and since he does need to get some sleep tonight, he decides to use a different tactic. He unlocks the handcuff from the bedframe and cuffs her to his other hand. He lays down next to her in the bed and says goodnight for a second time. 

She attempts to jerk his arm and body, but his strength prevents her from moving him more than an inch. After a few failed attempts, Lucy exhales aloud and stops fighting. He has to think of anything he can to distract him from the gorgeous woman lying next to him. His arms ache to pull her closer so that he can hold her throughout the night like he has so many times before. If Lucy is touching him, he’ll sleep better. He always has when she’s by his side.

It might be possible to ignore his desire if his hand wasn’t an inch from hers. His heart is begging him to lean over and kiss her, show her exactly how much he cares, how hopelessly in love with her he is. 

He shakes his head. He can’t do that no matter how bad he wants to, yet the compulsion is only going to grow the longer he lies here listening to her breathe. He waits until he’s positive that she’s asleep before he even closes his eyes. Tomorrow will be here before he knows it, but it can’t come soon enough where his self-control is concerned.

The next morning, he leaves Karl to watch Lucy and heads out into the chilly air. He knows that Wyatt and Rufus will follow him to Chicago and he knows they should be arriving soon. This time, he’s going to have a little surprise for them. He needs Lucy to help him on this mission and he needs Wyatt and Rufus out of the way. A distraction for Wyatt and Rufus could be cutting it close, so he opts for his second choice. If Wyatt and Rufus were in actual, real danger, Lucy would help him in order to save them. He hates that he has to blackmail her like this, but he just doesn’t see another option at this point.

He strolls down the street to the World’s Fair Hotel and goes in, not fully knowing what to expect, but relying heavily on the facts history has recorded. The caretaker summons Mr. Holmes and the two men take a seat in one of the front lobby parlors. It’s still quite early, so there isn’t much foot traffic in the hotel as of yet.

“Mr. Holmes, I have a business proposition for you,” he announces.

Ever the greedy con man, Holmes eagerly listens to his proposal.

“I don’t know what you’ve heard, good Sir, by I can assure you-”

“Save it, Holmes. I know all about you and this place. You either trap the two men in your little dungeon, or I go straight to the police. And, if you’re thinking about attacking me, you better think again,” he threatens with a menacing scowl.

Holmes warily agrees to the proposal. He pays him what he promised, then dons his coat and hat and takes his leave.

With quick strides, he glides down the street back to the Palmer House. He checks his watch, then goes back up to the room. He finds Lucy staring absentmindedly out the window. It’s not surprising, considering the debacle of last night, but it worries him.

He instructs Karl to fetch them something for breakfast, then sits down at the small table in the room. Neither of them are speaking to each other at the moment, but his silence is mostly due to the guilt welling up within him. 

A knock at the door about ten minutes later breaks his train of thought. He strides over to the door and unlocks it for Karl. Karl has managed to secure them some coffee and a box of Cracker Jacks. He places the items on the table, then glances back at Karl. No words are spoken, but Karl takes his cue to leave. He stops him by reaching out for his forearm. He whispers his instructions into Karl’s ear and receives a devious smirk as a response.

“Just make sure you get it done. We won’t have much time later,” he instructs.

Karl exits the room and the two of them are alone once again. He indicates to Lucy that she should sit and eat and she begrudgingly does so.

“Karl sure did look far and away for our _breakfast_ ,” she states mockingly.

He can’t help himself. He bursts into hysterical laughter a moment later.

“I can’t argue with you about that one, Lucy. Fear not, though. We’ll be having an early lunch today.”

Around noon, he escorts Lucy from the hotel room to a bar right on the edge of the fairgrounds. The light is low for the early afternoon, but the place isn’t exactly a dive. Candles grace each and every table in the establishment, which provides a romantic glow. Well, it would be romantic if they weren’t in the middle of a standoff right now. He orders some food that is actually edible and the two of them chow down in silence.

After their plates have been cleared, he decides to relax a little bit before he has to divulge his plans to Lucy. He orders two beers for them and the waitress disappears once more. 

He scowls at a few men who dare to eye Lucy up while in his presence, although he can’t entirely blame them. She’s without a doubt the most beautiful woman in the bar. To him, she’s the most beautiful and precious woman in the entire world.

The waitress returns to their table and sets down two bottles of beer.

“It’s called Papbst. Just won blue ribbon at the fair,” the waitress informs them.

He smiles back at her.

“Thank you.”

He may be about to murder three American icons, but he still remembers his manners.

“So, _professor_ …as you well know, Edison was a paranoid son of a bitch. Didn’t trust anyone near his prototypes, except Henry Ford, who was…”

“Edison’s employee. His chief engineer at the time,” Lucy answers.

He knew if he played history quiz, she would feel a compulsion to join in this up-to-now one-sided conversation.

“This afternoon, Edison and Ford are going to meet with their financier, J.P. Morgan. It’ll be in a heavily guarded room, very difficult to get into, even for me, even in 1893. But still, before they show up, I’m gonna plant the bomb there,” he informs her.

“I’m not going to help you. You’ll have to kill me,” she states nonchalantly.

He quirks an eyebrow in response to her blasé attitude. _Damn it! She knows he won’t go through with it._

“You don’t think I will?” he questions.

Lucy leans forward slightly. She doesn’t appear angry anymore. He can’t quite read her entirely, but he’s positive she’s not angry at him currently.

“I read your classified file,” she advises.

“Don’t believe everything you read,” he mocks.

“You saved people in Kosovo. You helped a family in Iraq. You used to care about people. You used to be good. But, Rittenhouse killed your family. I believe you. And now, you’re putting all of us in danger.”

 _How? How does she always know when to pull him back from the brink of darkness?_

Thankfully, Karl shows up at their table and interrupts them a minute later. If he had been left alone with Lucy for any longer, she might have talked him out of killing Edison, Ford and Morgan. 

“Well, they were easy to find. They went right for Roosevelt, just like you said they would,” Karl states with a slight chuckle.

“What is he talking about?” Lucy asks.

He does not revel in this, but he has to act as if he does. Lucy has already called his bluff once. He can’t afford to do it again.

“Maybe you don’t care about yourself, but you do care about Wyatt and Rufus, don’t you? I’ve sent your friends to the uh, World’s Fair Hotel.”

“You son of a bitch!” she declares angrily.

He allows his intelligence training to take over and he smirks back at her.

“But, the hotel came to be known by another name. What was that again?” he asks playfully.

“The Murder Castle.”

He turns to Karl and basks in the bind he’s placing her in.

“You know, the phrase serial killer was not even coined yet when H.H. Holmes, the owner of the Murder Castle, was caught.”

“Is that right?” Karl replies.

“The press called him the uh, multi-murderer. And, the hotel he built was an elaborate death trap. Trap doors, acid vats, torture racks. He’d even dissect them sometimes. But you know all this, Lucy, don’t you?”

She is seething in silence right in front of him. 

“You can still save your friends, Lucy. The sooner you help me, the sooner you can get back to them; hopefully, in time. Maybe, you can help me find someone who can evade the security, break into the offices, all without being detected?” he suggests.

She’s still staring blankly back at him, obviously weighing her options.

“Oh, come on Lucy. You always have all the answers.”

She remains silent for a moment, but he can tell her wheels are spinning. _He loves how this woman’s brain works._

“I have an idea.”

“No funny business, Lucy,” he reminds her.

“He’s at the fair. He shouldn’t be hard to find.”

He gestures for her to lead the way as they leave the bar and head towards the fair’s exhibition tents. He walks as close to her as he can, while Karl trails behind them.

They weave in and out of the tents until she stops in front of a small one off to the side. He glances up at the poster and smiles. _She is the most brilliant woman on this planet._

They enter the tent and take a seat on the wooden benches towards the back. He sits down next to Lucy and Karl sits in the row behind them in case she tries to make another run for it.

Houdini begins his act by introducing himself.

“He may not be famous yet, but there’s still no one better getting into or out of tight spots,” Lucy whispers to him.

Houdini asks for a volunteer from the audience. Lucy’s hand shoots up in an instant and the magician selects her. He can’t exactly protest without drawing attention to them, so he smiles and pretends to be the proud husband. He turns with a smirk on his face and looks back at Karl, who doesn’t appear to be enjoying the show whatsoever.

“Now, Lucy, have we ever met before?” Houdini asks her in front of the adoring audience.

“ _No_ , we have never met before.”

“How sad for me,” Houdini replies.

The crowd laughs. _You have no idea how accurate that statement is._ Houdini requests that Lucy check to make sure his handcuffs are securely tied behind his back. She obliges his request, making sure she shows the audience as best she can.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, as this beautiful lady has just confirmed, my hands are tied securely behind my back. I will now step into this trunk. My brother, Dash, will then lock it shut. Trapped inside, it will be hard to move, even…harder to breathe,” Houdini announces with a showman’s flair.

He chuckles slightly, as Karl rolls his eyes in response to Houdini’s dramatics. When he glances back up at the stage, his eyes meet Lucy’s. For a split second, he almost thinks he sees recognition flash across her face. _Has she remembered something; one of their past lives, perhaps?_

Lucy turns away and averts her eyes. Then, Houdini’s brother instructs her to inspect the locks on the trunk. Lucy follows the instruction and watches in horror as the man throws the key away. Her next instruction is to lift the curtain with him, so Lucy climbs onto the platform next to her and does so. Houdini reappears a second later and Lucy drops the curtain. The trunk is still locked. Lucy squeals with glee. 

He claps along with the rest of the audience, but his eyes don’t leave Lucy for one second. She is smiling and laughing and genuinely enjoying herself up there. He misses seeing that side of her. And, for that one moment in time, he is just happy because she’s happy.

“Thank you! Thank you! And please, tell your friends about the great Houdini.”

Houdini extends his hand to help Lucy down from the platform and he notices the interest the magician is showing her. He’s seen that look from many other men over the years. He’s probably even given it himself when gazing upon her.

They exit the tent with the rest of the attendees, but hang around the general area. He thinks up a plan to lure Houdini to them, and threatens Lucy by reminding her Wyatt and Rufus’ lives hang in the balance. Lucy reluctantly agrees to lure Houdini and she goes back into the tent to wait for him.

The plan is for Lucy to lure Houdini out into their waiting weapons. The woman is convincing and people tend to trust her, but the real reason he’s going this route is because he detected a little bit of romantic interest from the magician. _Harry has good taste._

He can hear Lucy talking to Houdini from the hallway. He warned her not to try any funny business and reminded her about Wyatt and Rufus and their current predicament. 

“He’s right outside. Would you like to meet him now?” he hears Lucy say.

He pulls his own gun and Karl follows suit as they hear them approach. As the curtain opens and Houdini walks out, Karl sticks his gun in the man’s chest.

“Mr. Houdini, a pleasure,” he states with a hint of honesty.

Houdini glances back at Lucy with disapproval. She slinks back into the shadows in shame. 

“I don’t know what she’s told you, but I don’t have any money,” Houdini advises.

“Oh, we don’t need your money. We need you to pick a lock.”

Houdini appears to be utterly confused by this whole mess, but he agrees to acquiesce to their request. It’s either that or he gets shot and he’s guessing the magician wants to live to see another day.

They walk towards the meeting location. Lucy and Houdini are in front, while he and Karl bring up the rear. They turn another corner and he tells them to stop.

“We’re here.”

He taps Houdini on his shoulder.

“You’re up.”

Houdini takes out his lock pick and opens the front door in no time flat.

“My friend’s gonna stay out here with the girl. You try anything, he kills her,” he informs the magician before reaching for his own gun and entering the building.

Once they get inside, he spies the guards standing outside the room where the meeting is to take place. He and Houdini hide in the shadows until the guards make their rounds and leave the door unattended.

“Whew! You weren’t kidding. Edison really is paranoid,” Houdini declares.

“Can you open it?”

“It’ll take some time. Ten minutes maybe,” Houdini advises.

_Fuck. He doesn’t have ten minutes. What is he going to do if Houdini can’t even get into this room?_

“You’ve got three. Those men with guns will be back soon,” he replies.

_Perhaps if he exerts a little bit of pressure, Houdini can get it done faster._

“I have another idea,” Houdini states as he removes his suit jacket.

Houdini hands him his jacket, then in a move that would make the most hardcore parkour practitioner proud, he hoists himself up into the ceiling vent. He keeps checking his watch nervously as he listens to Houdini banging around in the vents.

A moment later, the door opens before him and he steps inside. He hands Houdini back the jacket, then begins to look for the best place to secure the bomb before the meeting starts. Houdini questions if that tiny thing in his hand is really a bomb and asks him what Edison ever did to deserve this.

Unexpectedly, the door opens a moment later and Edison, Ford and Morgan enter the room in shock.

“Well, I guess the meeting wasn’t at four after all.”

“Who are you?” Edison questions.

“Mr. Edison, Mr. Ford, Mr. Morgan. Rare pleasure to meet you. My name’s Garcia Flynn and you are Rittenhouse.”

He reaches into the breast pocket of his suit jacket for his gun, but finds it’s disappeared.

“Looking for this?” Houdini asks, as he holds the gun in the air with a satisfying smirk.

He is still trying to figure out how in the hell Houdini got his gun without him knowing, when he realizes his hand is handcuffed to the railing. Houdini plucks the bomb from his handcuffed hand as he points the gun at him. Houdini smugly informs him the slight of hand is called the cut-purse.

“What the hell is going on young man?” Edison demands.

“Guards! Gentlemen, if I were you, I’d vacate this fair city as quickly as possible,” Houdini suggests.

Houdini winks at him, as he embellishes his introduction to the men standing in the room. He then bows and informs Edison, Ford and Morgan that he just saved their lives.

After Houdini departs, Edison, Ford and Morgan scramble out of there as well, but not before sicking their goonish guards on him. Thankfully, these men are slightly more civilized than David Rittenhouse would be, so he’s not too concerned.

He’s still handcuffed to the railing in the room when a guard comes in and informs him the police are downstairs. He waits patiently and watches intently as the guard unlocks the handcuff. The second his hand is free, he head-butts the guard and spins him in front of him to use as a human shield. He fires the man’s gun at the second guard and kills him, then cocks the shotgun again and kills the first guard. He runs his fingers through his hair, slings the shotgun on his shoulder, repositions his hat on his head and struts out the door.

He finds an unconscious Karl in the alley and drags him to his feet. Karl comes to a moment later, rubbing the back of his head profusely. 

“Get back to the Mothership. I’ll meet you there. I’ve got to check on something first,” he announces.

He snakes his way through the streets and winds up back at the World’s Fair Hotel. He hides in the shadows across the street as Lucy, Wyatt and Rufus say goodbye to Houdini and some woman.

The cops eventually show their faces and he eavesdrops as the woman and Houdini give their statements. He discovers that Holmes is dead by Wyatt’s hand. _Trigger happy idiot._ Holmes was a coward that Wyatt could’ve easily taken alive. But when he overhears the woman talk about Holmes grabbing Lucy, he sees red. He sneaks over to the coroner’s wagon where Holmes’ body has been unceremoniously laid. He stares daggers down at the lifeless body before him, then sneaks a peek under the sheet. 

“You’re lucky Wyatt shot you already. I _most certainly_ would have for hurting her,” he growls.

He allows the sheet to fall back over Holmes’ face, as he leans closer.

“But, I-I would’ve taken my time, prolonging your pain. No one hurts Lucy!”

When he finally lands back in the present in the abandoned church he’s been using as a hideout, he dials Wyatt’s cell number. He paces back and forth in front of the colorful, stained-glass windows, when Wyatt finally answers.

“Congratulations. You checked out of the World’s Fair Hotel alive. Lucy saved Edison, Ford and Morgan who went on to become some of history’s greatest _dicks_!”

“How’d you get this number?”

“Oh, and on top of all that, you got to kill America’s first serial-killer. That must have felt _great!”_ he teases.

“What do you want Flynn?”

“We made a deal that if you helped me get Benedict Arnold, I’d give you the name of your wife’s killer. So, despite what you think of me, I’m a man of my word. Now, the guy you’re looking for is currently serving for two other murders in San Quentin, and his name’s Wes Gilliam.”

There’s silence on the other end, but he can still hear Wyatt breathing heavily into the receiver, so he knows the call hasn’t dropped.

“Now, we both know you can’t go back to any time you already exist, so it’s not like you can stop the murder or even-even stop Wes. No, you’d have to go back in time further, do something terrible to his poor, innocent parents, maybe? So, the only question now, Wyatt, is what are you gonna do about it?”

He knows he’s goading him on to do something incredibly reckless and stupid. _That shouldn’t be that hard considering most of the things Wyatt does are reckless and stupid._ He truly believes if he can get this asshole out of the equation, Lucy and Rufus are more likely to work _with_ him instead of against him. Plus, if Wyatt takes the Lifeboat out for a joy ride, chances are he can accomplish his next mission without the team’s interference. And, he really needs a win more than ever after today.


	19. Paris

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flynn makes the best of a chance encounter with Lucy.

**_May 21, 1927, Paris, France_ **

He scouted this location over a year ago. It took a little bit of digging to find Lindbergh’s exact flightpath, but once he found it, selecting the ambush location was a piece of cake. He orders Karl to set up the RPG launcher, as he leans back against the hood of the car. Emma is to his left and within his peripheral vision. After what happened with Anthony, he feels it’s better to have his pilot with him so he can keep an eye on her. He doesn’t need a repeat of potentially losing his time machine if she decides to grow a conscience.

He’s holding the journal in his right hand at the moment. It doesn’t say much about today, but it does talk about what Lindbergh will become in the future. He tells himself he wants it close by for reference, but the truth is the little black book has become his crutch. It’s a way for him to connect with Lucy without being in her presence. Just touching it brings him comfort. It allows him to love her from afar, which is still a concept foreign to his heart. 

All of a sudden, Emma starts chit-chatting about history in order to pass the time.

“It’s a common misconception, but it’s not true,” Emma explains.

“Then, why do they say short people have a Napoleon complex?” he asks.

“Well, that’s the thing. Napoleon wasn’t short, he was 5’7. That’s above average for his era. He just-he surrounded himself with tall men and it just made him look short. It’s all relative.”

“How do you know that?” he asks.

“Because I met him,” Emma answers.

He glances over at the redhead next to him. Anthony had always raved about her. To be one of the first to take this machine out took a lot of guts and courage. He admires that. Unlike Anthony, she doesn’t seem to have as much of a problem with what he’s doing. She hates Rittenhouse for what they’ve done to her and what she’s had to endure.

“What? You think the Wild West was my first trip?” Emma quips.

Both of them chuckle. He supposes he would’ve done the same if he was in her shoes. Napoleon wouldn’t have been on his list, but to each his or her own he guesses. He doesn’t even need to think about which historical figure he would want to meet first. Try as he did, there was just never a reason to involve Nikola Tesla in all of this. To his relief, his idol wasn’t involved with Rittenhouse; at least that he knows of. 

He thought the plane should’ve been here by now. He opens the journal and starts to read the passage about Lindbergh again.

“Okay, seriously, what’s the deal with this little diary?” Emma inquires.

He pauses for a moment and carefully considers his response. He likes Emma, but he doesn’t completely trust her just yet. He’s only ever told a few people about the journal: Anthony, Stiv; and Karl. Two of those men are dead now. The fewer people know about it, the better.

“Not worth getting into it right now, believe me,” he responds.

He slams the journal shut and peers up at Karl.

“You ready yet?”

Karl nods as he steps back from the weapon. A second later, he hears the distinct sound of an airplane engine. He points his finger in the air towards the sound.

“Do you hear that?”

He doesn’t wait for her to answer. He stands up and hands the journal to Karl before strutting over to the rocket-propelled grenade launcher.

“You sure you’re not going to kill him with that thing?” Emma taunts.

“No, he’s flying in slow and low. This thing can cripple a rudder from twice this distance. He’ll be fine, just needs to land early, that’s all.”

He squats down, looks into the scope, and aligns it perfectly before pulling the trigger. The RPG rockets into the air and slams into the plane. A fireball lights up the sky and the plane plummets, slamming its belly into the field in a huff of smoke.

They all stroll casually towards the crash site. As they approach the wreckage, a frazzled Lindbergh stumbles from the scene clutching his left arm.

“I thought you said he was going to be fine?” Emma mocks.

“It’s all relative,” he quips.

Lindbergh gazes up at the group, gasping from the smoke.

“Congratulations, Lieutenant Lindbergh. Welcome to Paris,” he states with a smirk.

He lures Lindbergh towards the car with the promise of securing medical care once they escort him to Paris. As Lindbergh approaches the vehicle, Karl grabs him from behind, cups his hand over Lindbergh’s mouth and shoves him into the trunk of the car.

They clamber back into the vehicle and drive back into Paris proper. Night has fallen by the time they reach the city, which provides them some additional cover. As they arrive at the abandoned chateau he staked out previously, they drag Lindbergh from the trunk of the car. Lindbergh protests profusely, but they manage to get him inside and down into the catacombs.

Once they get him inside the cell, he orders Karl to hide the car close by, but out of sight. He sets up the listening equipment nearby and begins to formulate his plan of attack. 

Once Karl returns, he prepares himself mentally for what he is about to do. He opens the peephole and glances into Lindbergh’s cell. Lindbergh is clutching his left shoulder and seems to be in a good deal of pain. 

“His shoulder’s dislocated,” Emma advises.

“We need him focused. We need to find him something for his pain,” he surmises aloud.

He’s getting cranky because he needs to get this information out of Lindbergh. The longer this goes on, the more likely that Lindbergh will be uncooperative. He’d beat it out of him if he thought that would help, but he knows it won’t. Torture in this respect is counterproductive. 

“I don’t think Vicodin’s been invented yet,” Emma teases.

He thinks for a second, quickly cataloguing what could potentially be available in 1927 Paris. 

“Well, people are getting drunk someplace. Improvise! Get me some Absinthe,” he orders.

Karl nods, turns the corner and exits. Emma turns to follow him.

“Where are you going?”

“To Dingo Bar. That place is going to be crawling with famous people. You think I’m gonna miss a chance to meet Picasso?” Emma explains with a smile before she disappears around the corner as well.

He turns back towards the cell and peers back through the peephole at Lindbergh. _Whatever they do, he just hopes they hurry the hell up._

Emma and Karl return a while later with a bottle of absinthe in hand. Karl also has a visible wound to his left hand.

“What the hell happened?” he groans.

“We ran into the historian and her team at Dingo Bar. I definitely hit one of them though,” Karl answers as he wraps a handkerchief around the wound.

He wants to grab Karl and shake him right now. _It better not have been Lucy he hit._ He _specifically_ made sure Karl knew never to hurt her. He didn’t go into all the details, just that in the future Lucy will be an ally with loads of useful information in their fight against Rittenhouse. That seemed to be enough for Karl, but he has to admit Karl is a tough nut to crack. He’s never been able to get a true read on him.

“Was it their pilot you hit?” he follows up.

It’s a good way to get the information without drawing attention to his fascination with Lucy. 

“Nah, it wasn’t him. It was the soldier,” Karl responds.

He makes sure he doesn’t show any sign of relief on his face. Karl has never let him down so far, he shouldn’t have thought he would start doing so now.

“Serves them right for ruining my evening,” Emma chimes in. “I was really looking forward to meeting Picasso, too.”

She hands him the bottle of absinthe and he turns towards the cell. He pauses for a second, then opens the cell door and steps inside. Lindbergh curls in on himself as soon as he spots him. He strides over towards the man and holds out the bottle of Absinthe.

“For the pain,” he states gesturing towards the bottle.

Lindbergh hesitates to take it, but eventually reaches out for the bottle. Lindbergh pulls his knees into chest, uncorks the bottle and takes a big gulp. He closes his eyes momentarily, then flashes them back open in fear. Unfortunately for Lindbergh, it was all the time he needed to plant the listening device between two crates in the cell.

He stands there looming over Lindbergh, an unreadable expression across his face. He feels it best to keep his enemies on their toes. Lindbergh might come across as a good ole country farm boy, but he _is_ Rittenhouse. He will never let down his guard again, especially when it comes to those people. 

He loiters for a few more seconds before retreating back out of the cell once more. He needs to give it some time for the absinthe to kick in before he can begin his interrogation anyway.

As he waits for the drink to kick in, he shoots the shit with Emma and Karl. He doesn’t convey what information he’s searching for exactly, or how important this all is. He has leads, but there is a missing link between his information; a missing link he hopes Lindbergh can fill in. Lucy didn’t write everything down and he’s only been able to uncover so much in the present while living on the run. 

Suddenly, they hear noises and voices coming from above.

“Go check it out,” he orders Karl.

Karl nods his head in affirmation and disappears down the corridor. Emma doesn’t seem phased at all by the interruption. She strolls over to where they have their listening post set up and takes a seat on a wooden crate.

He checks on Lindbergh once more and decides its time. He just wants to make sure they won’t be interrupted, so he opts to wait until Karl returns to report on the noises. The next thing he knows, he hears the sound of Lucy’s voice echoing down the corridor.

“Let go! Tell him to let me go!” Lucy yells, as she struggles to break free from Karl’s grasp.

He closes his eyes for a moment. It truly annoys him how Karl is manhandling her, but he doesn’t have time for this right now. 

“Let her go. She’s not a prisoner.”

Karl releases his hold on her and Lucy turns her attention his way. He wasn’t expecting to run into her on this mission. After all, Paris is a large city and the chances of her tracking him down before he conducted his business were slim to none. _Impressive as usual._

She looks completely adorable dressed in her black headband and silver and black dress. His eyes float to the string of pearls gracing her slender neck. _He’d really like to carve out a necklace of his own on her._ His lips desperately ache to be on her skin. He almost loses control. It’s only a momentary lapse, but it still occurs.

He regains his composure and stares back at the lit firecracker that stands in front of him. He loves it when she’s all combustible like this. It turns him on in ways it shouldn’t, but turns him on nonetheless.

“His name is David Baumgardner, by the way.”

_What? That is not what he was expecting her to say and it totally throws him for a loop._

“I’m sorry, I don’t know who you’re talking about,” he admits.

“The soldier that he killed. My guy,” Lucy explains as she glares back at Karl.

“I thought your guy was Wyatt,” he spits back calmly.

A sadness creeps up into his chest as he says it. The thought of her even _liking_ Wyatt makes him want to vomit. If she only knew what he had done to her in Rome. He _wants_ to be her guy, her partner in this all-important war, if not throughout life.

Karl glances over at him, a look of confusion spreading across his face. Karl has witnessed them going at it every other time they’ve come face to face in his presence, so for him to be reacting so calmly to Lucy this time _would_ be confusing. Lucy is incredulous and angry. He knows that look too well. Normally, when Lucy would yell at him, he would yell back, like some peculiar pas de deux. Today, however, he is as cool as a cucumber, which seems to be frustrating Lucy as much as it’s miffing Karl.

Lucy turns back and glares at Karl again. He nods slightly in Karl’s direction, and Karl backs out of the room. She slowly turns her head back and glares at him instead.

“You knew, didn’t you? That’s why at the Hindenburg you told me to ask them about Rittenhouse and ask them why they chose me. You knew who my real father was all along. Why didn’t you just tell me?” Lucy demands.

He stares at her quietly the entire time, allowing her to get it off her chest. Yes, he knew about her father. He knows a lot of things about her that she still doesn’t know. She may never know all of them either. 

“You need to see with your own eyes who they are and _why_ you’re gonna fight them,” he answers calmly.

“That’s right because everybody knows my future except me!” Lucy complains with mounting frustration.

He doesn’t answer her. He may know a little about her future, but it’s still very uncertain and always changing, especially as he torches more and more of history. 

“Where’s Lindbergh?” Lucy questions suddenly.

“He’s right in there. You know, according to your journal, he’s Rittenhouse,” he informs her as he holds the black book up in the air. “In a decade, he becomes a monumental ass; spews his hate across America. The way you feel about Rittenhouse _now_ , you can’t tell me it wouldn’t be at least a little bit satisfying taking him out.”

For a split second, it looks as if she’s considering it. The moment fades fast, though.

“You can’t just kill Charles Lindbergh. It’s not right.”

He gives her this look like, “come on, really?” Even if he wasn’t Rittenhouse, he deserves it just for being the hateful prick he is. 

“Look, I will go in there and I will talk to him and I will convince him to leave Rittenhouse and not become the monster he’s supposed to become,” Lucy offers.

“And, you think he’s gonna just what, give up all that fame, the power, the legacy,” he asks.

“Yes.”

He scoffs. He has always loved the fact that Lucy is willing to give everyone the benefit of the doubt, to see the best part of every person. It may be naïve, but he admires it.

“I would,” she answers honestly.

“Okay. I’ll take that bet. It’ll be entertaining if nothing else. You convince him there’s a better way and I’ll spare him,” he advises.

He opens the door to Lindbergh’s cell and Lucy walks straight on through. She stops just inside the cell and slowly looks back at him. They don’t say anything to each other, but their eyes meet and that familiar bit of understanding floods in. He can’t help but admire her beauty one last time as he slowly closes the cell door.

He hadn’t planned on using Lucy like this. Hell, he hadn’t planned on _ever_ using Lucy. She’s an amazing woman and if anyone could get Lindbergh to spill his guts and change his tune about Rittenhouse, it would be her. 

When he planted the bug in the cell, he hoped Lindbergh might say something incriminating when he was alone. Now that Lucy is in there with him, Lindbergh seems poised to start singing like a canary. Both Lucy and Lindbergh are imbibing the absinthe that Emma and Karl brought back, which allows her to build up a rapport more naturally. She’s working her magic, trying her best to convince Lindbergh to denounce Rittenhouse.

Emma is sitting on a crate across from him and Karl is standing at his back, as they listen in on the conversation.

“The whole world thinks you died in that crash, including your parents,” Lucy states.

“Maybe, or maybe there are people right now out there looking for me,” Lindbergh answers.

“What do you mean?”

“My dad said once I landed that I was supposed to call Mr. Charvet and Rittenhouse would handle the rest,” Lindbergh explains.

“Who’s Charvet?” Flynn asks Emma.

“Julian Charvet. Owner of one of the largest car companies in Europe,” Emma advises.

“And, apparently a big player in Rittenhouse.”

He knows what this means. It’s the break he’s been waiting for. He needs to act quickly.

“Smart…using her. It was sneaky as hell, but…smart,” Emma compliments.

“Keep listening. Maybe you’ll hear something else,” he instructs as he stands.

This isn’t something he can let Karl handle. He needs to do this on his own. He lets the sound of Lucy’s voice ring in his ears one last time before he turns to leave.

“I’ll be back.”

It doesn’t take him very long to find Charvet’s home address. Well, at least he thinks it’s the right address. He double checks that he hasn’t been followed, then cautiously approaches the red door in front of him. There is a large, brass doorknocker in the shape of a lion. He picks up the handle and bangs it against the door a few times.

A well-dressed man answers the door a moment later.

“Monsieur Charvet?” he asks.

“Oui.”

He needs to make sure that this is the correct Mr. Charvet, so he asks if he’s the man from Charvet automobiles.

“Chef de Rittenhouse?”

He can see the shock and acknowledgement written across the man’s face. He’s _definitely_ in the right place.

“I have so many questions. We have a lot to talk about.”

He reaches inside his jacket, draws his gun and steps inside Charvet’s home. The man backs up slowly as he gestures for him to sit in the nearby chair. He can tell this man will be no match for him. It’s why he couldn’t leave this mission up to chance. He had to be the one to come here and interrogate him. After all, he’s the one with the intelligence background and is more adept at getting subjects to tell him what he wants to know. Karl’s brutish tactics can only go so far. 

Charvet tries to stand from the chair and he slams the butt of the gun into his head. Charvet instantly sits back down, his hand rubbing the now bleeding cut on his scalp. 

“Tell me what I want to know and this will end quickly,” he threatens.

Charvet resists for longer than he expected, but after a few more brutal beatings, he gives up information on Rittenhouse that’s actually useful. He’s already stayed here too long, so he shoots the capitalist pig between the eyes and slips out the back. 

He drives back and calmly strides to the abandoned chateau. When he returns to the catacombs, he finds Emma tending to a half-unconscious Karl.

“What the hell happened?”

“Rufus,” Emma answers.

He quickly turns back to the cell.

“Don’t bother, they’re gone,” she explains.

“You let _Rufus_ get the drop on you?” he asks furiously as Karl rubs his jaw.

“It wasn’t Rufus. It was some other guy that came out of nowhere. Hell of a left hook,” Karl complains.

He rolls his eyes. He was so looking forward to killing that bastard Lindbergh at the end of all this. He was also looking forward to having Lucy’s company once again, because he surely wasn’t going to leave her in the catacombs by herself. Ever since Chicago, he yearns to have her close to him again even if all they do is fight.

“Doesn’t matter. I got what we needed. Let’s get out of here. I have some research to do,” he informs them.

They gather their belongings, climb out of the catacombs and drive back to the awaiting Mothership. He’s getting closer and closer to taking these monsters out once and for all. He just prays this lead pans out, because he doesn’t know what he’ll do if it doesn’t. 


	20. Red Scare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flynn makes a drastic decision in his fight against Rittenhouse.

If all goes well, this could be one of his last missions. If he succeeds today, he only has one more jump to complete. He can see the light at the end of the tunnel, the ribbon at the finish line. He needs to get in the right mind set for this next jump. If he finds the Rittenhouse summit, the stain that will forever be branded on his soul will be immeasurable. There is no hope for him after this. He will save his girls, hug and kiss them and walk away like he promised. He has even come to grips with letting Lucy go. The truth is, he’s…just had enough. 

He closes his eyes and his mind drifts back to a happier time. He’s checking Iris’ closet for monsters and being as dramatic about it as he can, while Lorena holds Iris in her arms on the bed. It’s the last good memory he has of them and he knows it like the back of his hand.

“All clear.”

Lorena kisses Iris’ hand as Iris eyes him skeptically. He squirts the water pistol into the air and receives a shy smile from his daughter in return.

“No monsters.”

Lorena kisses the little angel’s hand again, as Iris’ smile grows wider.

“It’s safe to go to sleep, okay.”

He sits down on the edge of Iris’ bed knowing exactly what his daughter will say next, because she’s said it a thousand times before.

“But, I’m not tired,” Iris whines.

“Oh, what else is new,” Lorena replies.

“But, what if the monsters come back when I’m sleeping?” Iris questions.

That question used to bring a smile to his face. In his dreams, it still does. But, he has the benefit of hindsight and the knowledge that the monsters _did_ come while she was sleeping.

“Well, then I’ll protect you, okay? I’ll always protect you.”

In his dreams, he has a huge smile on his face when he tells her that. The problem is, he failed to protect her. He _failed._

His self-loathing is interrupted by the sound of a door opening. He bolts upright and rubs his eyes, as Emma approaches him. 

“Two guys just bailed,” Emma informs him.

“Which ones?”

“Karl and…the guy with the big neck,” she answers.

He doesn’t answer, but he’s pissed and he can’t deny it.

“Well, can you blame them?” Emma asks.

“Just one more mission was all I asked. _All_ of Rittenhouse in one room. And, we end this!” he decries.

Emma challenges him, throwing Paris and Chicago in his face. All it does is make him angrier. He stands up and gets closer to her.

“So, _what!_ You wanna walk out on me too?”

“No. Just wanna make sure you don’t kill me like you killed Anthony.”

He doesn’t answer her. He just walks away. He can’t deal with this right now. He needs to keep a calm head about him. If he stays here much longer, it’s just going to get worse. He has to go now. 

**_February 20, 1954, Washington, D.C._ **

He doesn’t waste any time. As soon as Emma lands the Mothership, he heads straight for Capitol Hill. Senator Joseph McCarthy might as well be wearing a neon sign around his neck stating, “I’m Rittenhouse.” Lucy had pointed that out in the journal, and he wholeheartedly agrees. This time, there will be no one to stop him, no one to interfere. He’s going to wipe Rittenhouse off the map forever.

He strides up the steps and right inside with an extra air of confidence. He would love nothing more than to be able to torture Senator McCarthy for a little bit, but he’s short on time. He’s not referring to torture in the conventional sense, but just taking some extra time to watch the weasel squirm would be a worthwhile endeavor.

The senator’s aides are no match for him and he worms his way into McCarthy’s office easily.

“Listen, I’m a busy man. You know a communist spy in the military, you tell one of my aides,” McCarthy advises.

“Well, I’ll tell you what I told them; that I only trust the great Senator Joe McCarthy himself,” he replies.

Internally, he’s gagging right about now. 

“Where’s that accent from, son?”

It takes every ounce of patience he has left not to bash this asshole’s head in. _How many innocent Eastern Europeans were accused of spying or being Communists because of this prick?_

“Look, I’ll tell you what I know, but first I need to find out something from you; where the Rittenhouse summit is tonight.”

McCarthy can try to deny it all he wants. He saw the flicker of recognition written across the man’s face. McCarthy tried to hide it, but he doesn’t have the training to do so. 

“What are you talking about?”

“Oh, come on! I think you’re uh, how do you like to put it, a card-carrying member?” he mocks.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about and I don’t have time for this nonsense. Now, if you’ll excuse me,” McCarthy replies as he picks up his phone on the desk.

“I wouldn’t…unless you want your enemies to find out you _faked_ thirty-two aerial missions to get that fancy flying cross on your wall,” he threatens.

He can tell he’s getting under McCarthy’s skin. It’s not hard with cowards like him.

“That’s a lie!” McCarthy declares as he slams down the phone in his hand.

“Not so fun being on the other side of a witch hunt, is it?” he ridicules.

McCarthy is more entertaining than he thought he’d be, but this is taking entirely too much time.

“ _Now_ , the address please.”

“If I tell you…I’m a dead man,” McCarthy replies.

“No one will ever find out. Scouts honor,” he quips.

He’s not _exactly_ lying about that, so he doesn’t feel too bad about using that line.

“On the other hand, if you don’t give it to me…”

McCarthy scrambles to find a pen and a pad of paper on his desk. The senator scribbles down an address, tears off the sheet and hands it to him.

“I don’t deserve this. Crooked press attacks me. People laughing at me. Enemies everywhere! I’m a patriot!” McCarthy gripes.

He wants to roll his eyes at this idiot, but he did promise the man and causing a ruckus in a senator’s office is bound to attract some attention. 

“Everyone’s the hero of their own story,” he replies.

“Like you, going after Rittenhouse? You’ll never win son.”

“Oh, we’ll see about that.”

Rittenhouse is no match for him in 1954. Hell, they weren’t really a match for him in 2017. If it wasn’t for Lucy and her team, this might have been over long ago.

“I think we’re done here,” McCarthy states.

“Not quite.”

He reaches into his inside suit pocket and pulls out two photos. He _really_ doesn’t want to do this, but he’s given Lucy every opportunity to join him and she continues to steadfastly refuse. Plus, if he accomplishes his goal here, Lucy might just cease to exist entirely, so handing her over to be questioned by McCarthy doesn’t seem as bad an option at this point.

“I promised you some information. I’m a man of my word. Here are your spies,” he informs McCarthy as he hands him photographs of Lucy and Wyatt.

He folds the paper with the address on it and tucks it into his breast pocket. He sarcastically thanks the senator for his time and ducks back out the way he came. _Time to end this war once and for all._

__

Senator McCarthy’s goons grab Lucy and Wyatt on the steps of the Capitol. He waits until they separate the two of them, then sneaks into the room they’re holding Lucy in. She’s standing there just staring out the window and he takes the opportunity to look her up and down. She looks absolutely heavenly in that powder blue dress. His eyes are immediately drawn to her graceful and slender neck that a multi-layered string of pearls encircle. _Jackie O doesn’t hold a candle to Lucy_. She’s the personification of classic beauty.

He knows she heard him open the door, but she won’t look at him. She just continues to stare out at nothing.

“Don’t worry, your Wyatt’s fine.”

He gags internally as the words “your Wyatt” spew forth from his lips.

“I take it Rufus is recovered too.”

Still nothing. She just continues to ignore him and stare out the window.

“I just wanted you to know, when I destroy Rittenhouse tonight, and _I will_ , that also includes your grandfather, Ethan Cahill. Which means…honestly, I’m not sure what’s going to happen to you, but whatever it is, it’s probably not good.”

The thought of doing anything to hurt her in any lifetime is anathema to him, which is why he has not come to this decision lightly. It’s his last ditch effort to save his family and if he has to sacrifice his soulmate to get them back he will. Every other life with Lucy has ended in tragedy, why would this be any different at this point? His faith in them ever being happy together for more than a hot minute evaporated a while ago, yet there is always that tiny flicker of hope that yearns to ignite and catch fire within him. He has to snuff it out completely in order to go through with this.

This is the first lifetime where he has known Lucy, but not been involved with her romantically. They’ve only been enemies in this lifetime, two soldiers on opposite sides of a war, except for that one time they were reluctant allies with Benedict Arnold. Perhaps this is the last cross he has to bear and they will live happily ever after in the next lifetime; perhaps not. It no longer matters to him what becomes of the two of them. Only Lorena and Iris matter. 

Lucy finally turns to face him.

“Why are you telling me this?” she asks in confusion.

“I thought you deserved the truth.”

“So, you told me. What do you want from me, my blessing?”

She doesn’t say it with the same bite in her voice that she would have when they first met. Instead, he feels like it’s a cross between annoyance and weariness.

“I don’t want anything from you,” he replies.

It’s the biggest, boldface lie he’s ever told in _all_ of his lifetimes, but what he wants from her, he knows he cannot have. Her heart belongs to another this time around. His does too, but it’s a different kind of love; the love of a parent. 

A sadness passes over him as he stares back at her hoping she won’t see through this façade. 

“You don’t want anything from me? Because, I think you do. I think deep down, there’s some part-some human part of you that wants me to stop you,” Lucy declares.

He can’t answer her, because as usual, she’s right. 

“God, I swear, this game that we keep playing; nobody wins, nobody loses. People keep dying. What’s the body count so far and _for what_?”

“Okay, now’s the time where you tell me what a monster I am,” he somberly replies.

He lowers his head slightly and averts her gaze. The fact that she thinks he’s a monster wounds him deeply. There’s been times when she didn’t like him very much, but she never went as far as calling him a monster. He knows what monsters are. He used to hunt them with the NSA. Now, he’s become just like them. If it were anyone else’s opinion, he wouldn’t care what they thought. But, this is Lucy. She’s not just anyone.

“I don’t think you’re a monster anymore. I used to. But now, I just think that you’re sad and you’re lonely. I think you’re a broken person…who misses the people that they love; just like me, just like Wyatt.”

He is a broken person. There is no denying that. Countless centuries of suffering have ensured it.

“Don’t talk about my family like you know them,” he warns.

He’s always been able to keep them separate in his mind. His family is one thing and Lucy is another and never the twain shall meet.

“You want to stop Rittenhouse. We’ll help you, but not like this,” Lucy advises.

_Please give him a reason not to do this. Please._

He crosses the space between them in an instant. He leans closer until he’s about an inch from her face.

“How?” he asks.

He searches her expression to see if she actually has an idea or is just trying to deter him from doing this. He can see fear in her eyes and that kills him. It confirms he has indeed become a monster. But there is nothing there except fear. There is no plan.

“You don’t know. Because there is no other way.”

He has a momentary lapse of judgment being this close to her and almost acts on it. He wants nothing more than to kiss the living daylights out of her since it’s probably the last time he’ll see her in this lifetime. He nervously licks his bottom lip out of habit, then pulls back. He cannot falter now.

“Goodbye, Lucy,” he states and then walks out of the room.

__

As he drives to the summit, he tries in vain not to think about what could potentially happen to her once he succeeds in wiping out Rittenhouse. This isn’t how he wanted to do this, but Lucy has left him no choice. At least, that’s what he keeps telling himself in order to go through with his plan.

He hides the car along the road a few houses down. With one last look around, he grabs the backpack loaded with C-4, detonation cord and fuses. This is it: the last stand of Rittenhouse.

He easily sneaks into the summit and maneuvers his way to the basement. He straps enough explosives to the basement pillars to blow this entire block up. _He can’t take any chances._ If even one member survives…

“Flynn.”

He spins around, simultaneously drawing his weapon and pointing it in the direction of the voice only to find Lucy standing between Wyatt and him. 

“Lucy!” Wyatt yells.

More than likely, she just saved Wyatt’s life because he would’ve shot first and asked questions later. Both men have their guns drawn and are pointing them at one another. He has the detonator in his hand as well. He won’t hesitate to use it at this point and blow them all to kingdom come. It’s probably what he deserves anyway.

“Wyatt, please,” Lucy pleads.

She turns her attention back to him.

“I’m not here to fight. I want to help you,” Lucy advises.

“Drop it Flynn,” Wyatt orders.

_Wyatt really is a royal pain in his ass._

“I’m gonna blow this place with all of us in it and it’d be worth it!” he barks.

“Stop, stop! Both of you, stop it!” Lucy scolds.

_He would love nothing more than to permanently stop Wyatt and shut him up._

“I know that you’re not a bad man. I know that you’re hurting. I know you don’t want to kill a room full of people upstairs,” Lucy pleads as she inches towards him.

“I don’t _want_ to kill them. I _have_ to kill them to put my wife and child back on this Earth!” he exclaims with anguish.

He’s at the end of his rope. The culmination of the years of anguish, heartache and despair become evident across his face. She has no idea what this has been like for him, how difficult it is to lose a child, how desperate he is to change it. There is literally nothing he wouldn’t do for his little girl.

“It won’t work,” Lucy responds.

“You don’t know that and _both_ of you’d do the same!”

Now, he’s the one who has hit a nerve, at least with Lucy.

“You’re right, you’re right, we would. We are all so caught up in our grief, in our past, in our pain and we can’t let go. So, we just continue to hurt more people,” Lucy admits.

He’s close to tears now. Again, she’s right. He can’t let go. He can’t let go of her, he can’t let go of Lorena and Iris, and he can’t let go of his urgency for vengeance. 

“I prayed to God for answers. And, he led me here, to this.”

He’s about to crumble. He can’t do this. But, he has to. There is no other way. He has to pay the ultimate price for his past failures.

“What if he led you to me? I know a way that we can _really_ take out Rittenhouse. We have to stop trying to fix the past and focus on the present. I need you to hear me out. I know what to do now. Please, before it’s too late,” Lucy begs.

He tilts up his chin in Wyatt’s general direction to alert her he’ll listen once the idiot puts his gun down.

“The journal…didn’t it say I was going to help you one day? Well, maybe today is that day,” Lucy suggests.

They’re still at a stalemate and he won’t move until Wyatt does. He doesn’t trust him at all. 

Lucy turns to Wyatt and pleads with him.

“Wyatt, do you trust me?” Lucy asks.

Wyatt holsters his gun a moment later and he relinquishes his grip on the detonator. He carefully sets it down next to him, then holsters his own gun.

“Alright, Lucy, I’m listening.”

__

He has to admit that Lucy’s plan _might_ actually work. The only unknown variable at this point is whether or not she can convince her grandfather to go along with all of this. In the meantime, he keeps quiet and allows Lucy to take the lead as they drive to the warehouse where they stashed the Lifeboat.

To his surprise, even Wyatt is behaving himself. Never in a billion years would he have thought the two of them were capable of sitting inches apart from one another and not kill each other. _Guess there’s a first time for everything._

They arrive at the warehouse and Rufus comes flying towards the car in a panic. He’s spouting off about something being wrong with Jiya when he spots him.

“What the hell is Flynn doing here?” Rufus demands.

“No, Rufus it’s okay,” Wyatt assures him.

The fact that _Wyatt_ of all people is defending his right to be here at the moment is mind-blowing.

“No, it’s not okay, alright. He had Al Capone shoot me!”

Ethan Cahill looks at them all as if they’re escapees from the loony bin. Lucy reassures Rufus that he’s not there to hurt him. 

“No, not this time, I’m not,” he confirms with a slight smirk.

Lucy introduces her grandfather to Rufus and explains he’s the pilot for the time machine and they’re from 2017. Ethan thinks they’re pulling his leg and this is all a big, stupid joke. When none of them start laughing, Ethan obviously goes back to his first thought about them.

“You’re all insane,” Ethan declares.

Rufus again stresses the fact that they need to leave now and get Jiya home. Lucy tells them to go, but that she has to stay here. Wyatt naturally protests, but she assures him she needs Ethan to see the machine in action in order to convince him.

“I’ll go with Flynn in the Mothership,” Lucy informs Wyatt.

“Lucy, no. No way.”

_Always trying to tell her what to do. The more things change…_

“Look, we already lost you once, I _cannot_ lose you again,” Wyatt pleads.

 _Wyatt can’t lose her again?_ He’s lost her so many times he’s lost count. Each time he did, the agony grew and grew inside of him, twisting him into an angry, bitter shell of his former self; until Lorena and Iris came along and everything changed. And, then Lucy came along again and it changed some more. Wyatt has no idea what it’s like to be continually tortured by her loss.

“You trusted me this long. I just need you to do it a little longer, okay? Get Jiya back,” Lucy instructs.

“If you hurt her…”

“What? You’ll try and kill me again?” he quips sarcastically.

Lucy manages to convince Wyatt to go and the Lifeboat jumps a moment later. Ethan stands there with his jaw practically to the ground in disbelief.

“That’s a time machine,” Ethan mutters.

“It’s real, Ethan. All of it. But there’s more,” Lucy advises.

She goes on to explain that she’s his granddaughter and that his son, Ben, is her father. She elaborates about how Ben does terrible things in the name of Rittenhouse when he grows up.

“Rittenhouse wants that time machine. Can you even imagine what they’d do with something like that?” he asks Ethan.

“What are you asking? No one can take out Rittenhouse,” Ethan states.

“We believe that we can. But, we need your help. It’s not going to be easy. You have to stay inside Rittenhouse. You’re gonna have to live a double life your whole life,” Lucy explains.

“What do you want me to do?” Ethan asks.

Lucy explains her plan to her grandfather and he watches as the brilliance of it all sinks in for Ethan. _That’s his girl!_ He is so proud of her in this moment. She has been able to think up a plan that doesn’t involve torching history that can kill Rittenhouse in the present. He never thought it was possible, but leave it to Lucy’s genius to find a way.

He has Ethan drop him and Lucy off at the warehouse where he stowed the Mothership. One thing’s for sure, Emma is not happy about their additional passenger. Emma feigns nice to Lucy, but he picks up that familiar jealous vibe he’s seen a few times from the redhead. _Definitely something to keep an eye on._

Once they complete the jump, Flynn and Lucy discuss whether they think Ethan will hold up his end of the bargain or not. Lucy is as optimistic as ever, while he’s ever the pessimist. He’s really hoping Lucy can prove him wrong this time. Otherwise, he’s just wasted a tremendous opportunity.

Lucy agrees to be blindfolded as they leave his hideout. Once they’re on their way to the drop point, Lucy discusses a deal with him. She tells him she will get him the information on his family’s murderers and to expect her call. He’s not holding his breath, but he also doesn’t have any reason to doubt her. He leaves her a few blocks from the drop point and tears out of there as fast as he can. He doesn’t want this to be the last time he sees her, but he knows it could be. He would’ve lingered longer, but he doesn’t want to push his luck that someone will recognize him and call the cops. Now, all he can do is wait.

__

He has mixed emotions when he gets the call from Lucy. On one hand, he can’t think of anything he wants to do more than go and get his family back. On the other, he no longer has any reason to have Lucy in his life after this. Even if he has resolved himself to not pursue a romantic relationship with her in this life, he still loves to worship her from afar. After today, that will no longer be a possibility, which saddens him greatly. 

As he approaches the square he’s arranged to meet Lucy in, he takes a long, hard look at his surroundings to make sure neither of them have been followed. He’s too close now to make that sort of rookie mistake. 

He spies Lucy in her camel-colored coat standing in the middle of the square. He checks around him once more, then cautiously makes his approach. 

“You alone?” he asks as he reaches her.

“I said I would be.”

“Do you have it?”

Lucy hands him a flash drive.

“It was in Ethan’s files. It’s the name of the person who put the order out to kill your family and the men who carried it out. Go on one last trip. Get your wife and your daughter back and then surrender the Mothership or destroy it. I don’t care. This…it’s over,” Lucy states as relief floods her face.

Relief washes over him as well, but he doesn’t dare show it. He has it. Finally, he has the means to bring back his little girl and his wife.

“Once I get my family back, I never want to see that machine again,” he answers honestly.

There’s a brief moment of silence between them, as if neither one of them wants to end the cat and mouse chase across history.

“Oh, I almost forgot.”

He pulls the journal out of his back pocket. 

“This is for you,” he advises as he hands it to her.

A wild smile spreads across his face as her delicate fingers gloss over the cover. The journal has found its owner. He thought he’d be eager to get rid of it, but the second it leaves his hand, he feels like a part of him is missing.

“I won’t be needing it anymore.”

“You know, you never told me where you got it from,” Lucy states with an air of curiosity to her.

He doesn’t know what to say. Does he tell her the truth? He doesn’t want to lie to her, but it’s complicated. He licks his bottom lip quickly, trying to tame the nerves that suddenly saddle him. 

“You gave it to me.”

Lucy laughs heartily assuming he’s joking around with her. When she gazes back up into his eyes, she automatically knows he’s telling the truth. He’s never lied to her and he doesn’t plan on starting now. It’s part of the reason he decided to tell her where he got it from.

“Uh, no I didn’t,” Lucy laughs.

“Not yet. But, take it from me, you age surprisingly well,” he answers with a smirk.

“What are you talking about?” Lucy questions.

He doesn’t get the opportunity to respond before Agent Christopher and the feds move in and surround him. They bark orders to get onto his knees and show them his hands. The next thing he knows, they have him.

“You followed me?” Lucy yells at Agent Christopher.

“He’s a terrorist, Lucy. Just think about what he’s done.”

“Think about what _we’ve_ done!” she retorts angrily.

He’s being handcuffed now and the realization that he’ll never save his family crushingly smacks him in the face.

“No, no! I trusted you, Lucy. I trusted you with my family, I trusted you with my child!” he screams.

“I had no idea. I’m sorry!” Lucy pleads as he’s lead up the steps.

“You’re sorry? You’re sorry! You have no idea what you’ve done!”

He can’t fight them. There’s too many. Agent Christopher was not messing around when she planned this op. It’s done, it’s over. He wishes they would just kill him now and get it over with. He’s never going to see Lorena, Iris _or_ Lucy ever again in this lifetime. And, _that_ makes this world unlivable.


	21. Salem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flynn takes his first trip as a member of the Time Team.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hope I did this fantastic episode justice.

__

_He escaped prison for this?_ _This place is a tetanus infection waiting to happen_. _How the hell can Lucy live here?_

His original plan was to try and talk to her one on one, but then Wyatt decided he was going to reenact _Escape from Alcatraz_. This could potentially work in his favor, but he can see how upset Lucy is about the man’s disappearance, so he remains quiet. 

It marvels his mind that things have changed so much in regard to his feelings for Lucy. When he was arrested, he blamed her and focused his anger on her when he was in solitary. Eventually, he calmed down and realized that Lucy wasn’t _really_ to blame.

Then Denise paid him a visit in prison. Her, he did blame. Denise used Lucy to get to him. His arrest and subsequent incarceration just about killed any hope he had of ever saving his family, or for working with Lucy. So, he played the last card he had. He tells Denise he’ll only talk to Lucy.

When she shows up, it shocks him how awful she looks. She’s thinner than he remembers her being, she has dark circles under her eyes, and the confident, passionate woman he knows is nonexistent. He’s never seen her like that before. He also doesn’t find Lucy’s pitch particularly convincing. She’s stopped him at every turn and now he’s supposed to believe she wants to take down Rittenhouse? He needs proof, just like she needed proof that Rittenhouse existed. 

Lucy swears up and down that she’ll do whatever it takes to rid the world of Rittenhouse. He really wants to believe her, but he’s been disappointed so many times. He tries to reach out towards her, but the handcuffs wrench his arms back. Anger builds in him again for his current predicament, so he bitterly provides Lucy and Denise with the intel they came for.

Then, a few days later, the guards take him to the yard for his hour of exercise. It’s the only time he sees daylight or other humans at all, even if they’re separated by fences. Nothing seems out of the ordinary, at least, until the guards escort him into gen pop breakfast instead of back to his cell. He tries to tell them he belongs in solitary, that they’re making a mistake. _Who would lie about that? No one wants to go to solitary; no one._

Then he comprehends what’s _actually_ going on. Rittenhouse is going to try and kill him. He weaves into the line of prisoners, trying in vain to blend in and hide amongst the crowd. Once he exits the food line, he finds a seat with his back to the wall. He balances the tray of food precariously as he scans the room every few seconds. The man sitting next to him at the table suddenly gets up, and the man next to him slides over and stabs him in the side with a spoon shank. He wrestles the spoon shank out of the assailant’s hand and severs the man’s carotid with it. 

Since he’s now in the middle of the cafeteria bleeding, he’s pretty sure they can’t try again to kill him at this exact moment. There are just too many witnesses around. It’s one thing for a random inmate to stab another, but it’s an entirely different ball of wax for a guard to attempt to do him in the most crowded place in the entire prison. They’ll have to take him to the infirmary where they’ll probably kill him in private.

Nothing happens as he’s escorted to the infirmary, so he assumes it will happen once he’s handcuffed to the treatment table. To his utter shock, the doctor gets to work on his wound as if he’s not been marked for death. After the doctor stitches him back up, Lucy and Denise appear in the infirmary requesting his help once again. He’s pretty sure their presence just saved his life. After all, it would be pretty embarrassing for the warden if a Homeland Security agent showed up and her prize witness was just stabbed to death.

Lucy swears she will get him out of prison during this visit, but he never truly expected Denise to ever go along with it. Yet, to his surprise, that’s exactly what happens, albeit through stealthy means. Finding out the whole plan had been Lucy’s, provided him hope that perhaps things might finally be changing.

Now, he sits at the desk in the common area, feigning interest in one of the few pieces of actual literature they have in this dump, while Lucy and the rest of her team discuss Rittenhouse’s latest jaunt through time.

“The Mothership landed in Salem, Massachusetts, September 22nd, 1692,” Connor announces.

“Pilgrims?” Jiya asks as she gives Rufus a strange look.

“That's the height of the witch trials,” Lucy advises.

“Lucy, try Wyatt again. He needs to get the hell back here,” Denise commands.

“I keep trying. I've called him like twenty times,” Lucy answers before taking out her cell and leaving the room.

Whatever the hell Wyatt is doing doesn’t concern him in the least. In fact, he’d much rather prefer it if the man never came back. They’re going to have to use him in Wyatt’s place. _Well, they would if they’re smart. Sending Lucy and Rufus to colonial New England by themselves is not a wise idea_.

He props his feet on the desk and turns the page. He’s half paying attention to the book as he keeps an ear out for what’s going on around him.

When Lucy reappears in the common area, she announces that Wyatt isn’t coming because his wife is now not-so-dead after all. _Poor Lucy. She just never gets a break, does she?_ He remembers her journal entries from this time and knows how badly Wyatt hurt her, which only makes him want to rip the idiot to shreds even more. 

The discussion then devolves into who remembers Jessica _actually_ being dead. Since he has nothing to add, he remains silent and reads a few more paragraphs of the book.

“Okay, right now Rittenhouse is in Salem possibly ripping history apart, and we are short a soldier,” Denise laments.

“And, Wyatt is doing what he has to do and so should we. We can go after him with or without a soldier,” Lucy declares.

 _Okay, time for him to speak up._ He appreciates this newfound bravery from Lucy, but she’s bordering dangerously close to the line of stupidity.

“It'd be better with. The 22nd was the deadliest day of the witch trials. Gonna be brutal.”

He doesn’t move from his position, book still in hand as he waits to hear the inevitable outrage that’s about to come.

“No way! You stole a time machine. You killed innocent people,” Agent Christopher groans.

“And, you busted me out of jail,” he replies as he points back at her.

“The NSA suspects the Iranians, and I plan on keeping it that way. You are staying put,” Denise decides authoritatively.

“Why do we have him here if we aren't gonna use him?” Lucy questions.

His heart swells when Lucy begins to advocate for him joining the mission. She’s sticking her neck out for him when she still has her own doubts. He knows she does. He read about them over and over again. This is the mission that changes everything for the two of them; at least according to the journal that is. He knows the journal isn’t one-hundred percent accurate, but he’s _really_ hoping it’s on point this time.

“We're using him for intel, not muscle,” Denise chides.

“Aw, come on, guys,” he fake whines as he slaps his book on the desk and stands up. “Fighting the good fight through time is kind of my wheelhouse.”

He strolls over toward Jiya, getting closer to Lucy and Rufus, but not too close. He doesn’t want to come off as threatening or intimidating at this moment or they’ll never let him go.

“And, I know all about Salem.”

“You burned a couple of witches in your day?” Rufus asks mockingly.

He doesn’t know this for a fact, but he has the sinking suspicion that Lucy might just have a kink for historical knowledge, so he decides to show her why he’s her best bet for help on this mission and in this war. He explains how witches weren't burned in Salem, they were hanged. He goes on to point out that only those who refused to confess were executed.

“And, it all came to a head on the 22nd, when the final victims were all hanged from the same tree _one_ _by_ _one_.”

Lucy confirms that he’s speaking the truth, but Rufus and Agent Christopher are not budging. Rufus complains he tried to have him shot, and Denise reminds Lucy that he’s a killer and can’t be trusted. _Sure, he’s killed, but the thing with Rufus was a mistake. Isn’t he allowed to have a bad day once in a while too?_

“He's a time-traveling killer, and we share the same enemy. I mean, come on, you can't deny that Flynn has been effective,” Lucy argues.

 _She could literally be saying anything right now and he’s not sure he could love her more._ She’s defending him, _again_. It reminds him of Lucy defending him in Atlantis when her mother had him arrested. That fierceness is growing within her once again. He can’t help but look at her with the full adoration and love he’s felt since they first met more than a millennia ago.

“Look, we are going to colonial New England. A woman and a black man should travel with someone who has more access,” Lucy asserts.

“Ah, I couldn't agree more,” he adds.

“Look, I kept my word and I got you out of that cell. I need to know that I can trust you on this. Can I?” Lucy questions.

The way she asks him indicates that she does trust him, but she needs him to confirm it, to say it aloud in affirmation for all to hear.

“No. The answer is no, you cannot trust him,” Rufus replies.

She asks again. He gazes directly into her eyes, but words seem to escape him at the moment, so he nods slowly. He breathes a sigh of relief when Agent Christopher informs him that Lucy is in charge and he will follow her lead.

“Deal, now let's go find some decent clothes.”

“We'll figure that out once we get to Salem,” Lucy replies as she walks towards the Lifeboat.

“I'll just take a gun,” he tells Agent Christopher.

“Oh, hell no! If I'm gonna be flying that thing, there's no way he takes a gun. I have a thing against getting shot in the back,” Rufus exclaims as he climbs into the ship.

“Like, that's the only way I'd be able to kill you?”

He knows he shouldn’t tease Rufus like this, but it’s just too much fun. Agent Christopher refuses to give him a weapon, which he can already predict will be problematic. _Is he supposed to protect them with his winning personality or does Agent Christopher expect him to be a literal human shield?_

He climbs into the machine and takes the seat opposite Lucy.

“I knew living with Flynn was gonna suck, but this is much worse,” Rufus grumbles.

The importance of this moment in time is certainly not lost on him. He’s finally beginning to work _with_ Lucy. He knows it will take baby steps to get to where it needs to, but it’s finally happening. She’s right across from him and he can’t stop staring at her. This, in turn, causes him to fumble as he tries to buckle himself in.

“A little trouble with your seatbelt?” Lucy mocks.

“I can see why this ‘Lifeboat’ was such a failed design. It's cramped, cluttered, not very impressive.”

“Still beat your ass most of the time,” Rufus chimes in.

He clicks into the seatbelt and adjusts the straps before giving Lucy a sheepish smile. Rufus warns him about the nausea and he reminds Rufus that this isn’t his first trip in time.

“Flying coach sucks,” Rufus mutters.

“Aw, come on, cheer up, kids. This will be fun.”

When they arrive in Salem, they take a few minutes and hide the Lifeboat in a heavily wooded area. After they complete that task, they wander out in search of clothes. Luckily, they don’t have to look far before they come upon a Puritan farm on the outskirts of town. He scans the area quickly, then signals to Lucy and Rufus to follow as they slink along the fence line. He was never concerned about the ability to find clothing, but he continues to have concern that they’ll find clothing that will fit _him_. 

Rufus finds a suit hanging on the line and claims it as his own immediately and scurries off to the barn to change, as Lucy gathers the various layers for her own ensemble. He, on the other hand, goes through multiple items before he finally finds something he thinks he can actually get away with. Once he spots the brown leather duster and gloves though, he feels much more at ease. One thing’s for sure, he is _not_ wearing that ridiculous hat, even if Lucy begs him to. 

He waits patiently for Lucy to finish changing as Rufus makes faces behind his back. _Like he doesn’t know what he’s doing. He’s not an idiot like Wyatt._

When she emerges from the barn sporting that burgundy dress, he can’t take his eyes off of her. _Only Lucy could make Puritan clothing hot._

They proceed through the woods towards the town as Lucy points out Proctor’s Ledge and what will happen there later today.

“It's all just awful,” Lucy states somberly.

“Maybe we can keep it from getting worse,” Rufus counters.

“Which it easily could, with a sleeper agent somewhere back there,” he adds.

He’s trying to be a part of their conversation, but he still feels a little bit awkward. If it were just he and Lucy, he wouldn’t be this nervous. He can’t really explain it, but he really would like to repair his relationship with Rufus. The only problem is, Rufus is unaware that they actually had a prior relationship in the past, and their interactions in the present probably were not all that pleasant to say the least.

“I figured Salem would be creepy, I just thought there'd be more people,” Rufus states.

Lucy explains how dangerous it is to be out in the woods during this time and how more people stayed inside the noisier the accusations got.

“The woods, where we are. Great,” Rufus mutters.

“You do realize that witches aren't real, right?” he snickers.

“Uh, then what do you call that?” Rufus replies.

A cloaked figure appears in the woods a slight distance from them. Without hesitation, Lucy strolls towards the figure and he follows like the lost puppy bodyguard he is.

“No, no, don't do that. Rule number one, don't run _toward_ the demonic entity,” Rufus warns.

Lucy asks who the figure is, which is how they wind up meeting Abby. Abby then asks who they are, since they are obvious strangers to the town inhabitants.

“I'm Isaiah,” he answers as he clamps his hand on Rufus’ shoulder. “And, uh, this is my manservant.”

He doesn’t even know he’s doing it until it’s too late, but he moves his arm around Rufus in a weird bro hug.

“Easy, Isaiah,” Rufus warns.

“I thought you guys used aliases.”

Lucy introduces herself and Rufus and tells Abby they’re from Boston. Abby is quick to assume they’re here for the spectacle of the hangings. She then places a piece of parchment on one of the trees before driving a dagger through to hold it in place. Lucy walks closer and examines what’s written on the parchment.

"Murder in Salem? Let the judges be judged. Looks like we agree, these trials are unfair,” Lucy informs her.

“These trials are more than unfair. They're murderous. Women are dying, innocent women. That may not vex you, but it vexes me,” Abby replies curtly.

“Oh, we are vexed, but what my wife failed to explain is that we're here because we wanted to help,” he interjects.

Lucy gives him a dirty look, but he ignores her. He didn’t mean to call her his wife, but it slipped out before he knew it. Technically, it’s a true statement because they’ve been married in multiple lifetimes, but Lucy doesn’t know that. Hopefully, she’ll just think it was the most logical explanation for their cover identities. It’s a mistake he can’t take back and he hopes Lucy is too preoccupied by their current situation to remember it for long. After all, a man who just lost his wife and child so horrifically should have more of an issue referring to another woman as his wife so easily. There would be no good way for him to explain it and he doesn’t trust himself not making another Freudian slip around her. He would like nothing more than to be able to call her his wife for real, but he knows that will _not_ happen in this lifetime.

“Help, me?” Abby questions with confusion.

“Yes, my _husband_ and I are from the Old South Church in Boston. Reverend Willard sent us,” Lucy states hesitantly.

_Guess his little faux pas earlier is bothering her more than he thought based on her enunciation of the word husband._

“My apology. I easily ruffle and friends have been few recently,” Abby answers.

Lucy asks if Abby realizes how dangerous it is to speak out on a day like today, but Abby states she couldn’t live with herself if she stays quiet. Abby tells the group she’s about to do just that at the tavern, so they decide to head on over with her to see if they can find the Rittenhouse sleeper agent.

As soon as they enter the tavern, one of the Puritan men orders the people to be silent and commands that the prisoners be brought out. Lucy explains that the man is John Hathorne, the Justice of the Peace that’s overseeing the witch trials.

They bring in the prisoners and Rufus and Lucy take a seat at the nearest table. He stays standing since he doesn’t want to be caught off guard, especially when he’s unarmed.

Hathorne blabbers on about the accused women, but the number he announces piques Lucy’s interest.

“Nine? I thought there were supposed to be eight,” Lucy states.

Their new friend, Abby, stands up and begins to argue in favor of the accused, which naturally falls on deaf ears. Hathorne advises that he must read the order of the Court, then asks who Abiah Franklin is. Lucy recognizes the name immediately. It’s written plainly across her face. The woman they’re looking for just happens to be their new friend, Abby.

“No, no, no, this can't happen,” Lucy stammers.

“What can't happen?” he whispers as he bends down towards Lucy.

They announce Abby has been convicted of witchcraft and sentence her to be hanged with the rest of the accused. Lucy explains to them that Abby is Benjamin Franklin’s mother and if she’s executed today, he’ll never be born, which could kill America in its infancy.

They drag Abby and the other accused women out of the tavern. He tells Lucy and Rufus what he’s doing, then stealthily leaves the table and wanders around the tavern in search of a weapon. Unfortunately, this proves to be an impossible task at the present, so he meanders his way back to the table.

“Tell me you're done looking for a weapon,” Rufus states.

“Damn puritans. No one even has a butter knife! Happy now?”

“A little bit,” Rufus answers with a shrug.

A second later, everything goes off the rails. Rufus starts freaking out about some Puritan he claims Jiya told him about after she had a vision.

“Visions of what?” Lucy questions.

“The future. My future,” Rufus replies.

He looks at Lucy as if Rufus has just told them he saw Bigfoot. _And, they think he’s the crazy one?_

Rufus explains Jiya’s vision of a pilgrim-looking man with a scar that he supposedly kills.

“Well, if she's fantasizing about Puritans, you have bigger problems, man,” he teases with a big, sarcastic smirk on his face.

Lucy gives him her best “really?” look. It’s the same kind of look a wife gives her husband when he says something stupid or embarrassing. _Man, he missed that look from her._

“If I'm gonna kill a guy, wouldn't it make sense it's some sleeper agent Rittenhouse embedded in Salem? See? Look, that's him. Scar on his left cheek,” Rufus argues.

“That guy's too feeble to be the sleeper agent.”

“That's who Jiya warned me about,” Rufus reiterates.

He looks at Lucy and blows out an exasperated huff. He turns to follow the scar-faced man out the door when Rufus grabs his forearm.

“Hey, hey. Where are you going?” Rufus questions.

“I wanna see if your girlfriend's crystal ball works.”

He storms out after scarface and follows him through the village to a farm on the outskirts of town. It’s not hard to do, since the man is oblivious to his presence. Lucy and Rufus struggle to keep up with him, but he knows they’re not too far behind.

He waits until scarface strolls into the barn before he makes his move. Luckily, the man has his back to him, so he sneaks up easily. He grips the man up by the neck and slams him against the wooden post of the barn.

He begins to interrogate the Puritan, questioning him about his part in the accusation of Abby Franklin. Scarface denies any involvement. _Of course he does_. He didn’t expect him to cave immediately anyway. He shoves the man harder against the post, then squeezes his hand tighter and tighter around his neck. He’s choking him pretty good now and he can see the panic spreading across the man’s face. _Now we’re getting somewhere._

“Flynn, can we hear him talk? Please?” Rufus begs.

He turns his head and glances back at Rufus.

“You are _no_ fun.”

The Puritan is wildly gasping for air, so he places the man’s feet firmly on the ground and commands him to speak. The man explains that many of the accusations reported to them are from those who are closest to the accused.

Rufus questions what he means by “them,” and the man advises he is one of the judges who works under Hathorne. Rufus and Lucy figure out the man’s name is Samuel Sewall right before the man’s young daughter wanders upon the scene in the barn. The little girl screams for her father and Sewall begs him not to hurt him in front of his child.

The terror on this child’s face is ripping him in two. She reminds him of Iris, not in appearance, but in innocence. He-he cannot do this. He just can’t. He also can’t show weakness, not in case this unlikely fellow _is_ a Rittenhouse sleeper, and not in front of Rufus or Lucy. He’s here to protect them, to be the good soldier who follows Lucy’s orders, the shield that guards the improbable warriors in a fight for the soul of America. If he’s weak, he’ll never be trusted to go on another mission and never become quite the team with Lucy. That is an outcome he refuses to allow to happen.

He grips Sewall up tightly and leans in a little, while he menacingly threatens him.

“You tell anyone about any of this, and I'm gonna come after you. You understand me?”

“Papa?”

“Do you understand?” he angrily asks again, as he shakes him hard against the beam. “Get the hell out of here. Now!”

He shoves Sewall to the ground, then watches as Sewall ushers his daughter out of the barn. 

The team regroups and tries to think about who might have accused Abby. Lucy paces with her back to him and Rufus. He has every confidence that his genius beloved will figure this one out.

“He did say accusations often come from people who are closest to the accused,” he reminds them.

“Ben Franklin's aunt,” Lucy exclaims.

Lucy spins on her heel and stares straight at him. He can tell the pieces of the puzzle are coming together in her head.

“Of course, Abby's sister was one of the most outspoken accusers in Salem,” Lucy states.

“Any idea where to find her?” he asks.

Of course Lucy does, because-because she’s Lucy! Sometimes, he’s not sure whether he finds her intelligence or her beauty more attractive. _This is why she’s the total package._

__

The three of them walk along in the woods with him leading the way, then Lucy, then Rufus bringing up the rear. He slows down a little, drawing his hands behind his back and slouching slightly in Lucy’s direction. He’s trying his best to seem like one of the gang, but he’s once again on the outside of the conversation. So, he just listens as Lucy explains that the most vicious accusers were adults, not teenagers. He _definitely_ suspects Abby’s sister, but he doesn’t really have any reason to think that way. Lucy muses the same thought aloud a moment later, and he chuckles internally that they’re already on the same page.

He watches her intently as they stroll towards Abby’s sister’s house. He so desperately wants for her to see the _real_ him; the other side that can offer her companionship, loyalty and support. He is finally past his anger over the arrest and he yearns for the closeness they once shared.

“You're not as fearful as I remember. All that time alone with Rittenhouse toughened you up. 'Cause if you think that was bad, you should try six months in solitary. You at least had some people to talk to,” he states.

“You're right. My mother and I had some amazing heart to hearts while I was her prisoner,” Lucy snaps back.

_Damn it! He’s really trying to get closer to her, but all he ever winds up doing is pushing her further away by sticking his foot in his mouth._

Thankfully, the house comes into view, so the awkward conversation ceases immediately.

“That has to be the house,” Lucy declares.

“Yeah, I think I'm gonna pass on the Puritan chainsaw massacre. Maybe I should scope out the jailhouse. See if there's a way to get Abby out,” Rufus advises.

Lucy cautions Rufus to take care and to meet them back at the tavern. Now, they’re alone. He decides to ignore that little moment earlier and gestures for Lucy to lead the way up the path to the home. _Better for them to see Lucy first anyway. She always draws people in. They won’t be able to resist her._

They knock on the door and are greeted by a man they presume is Abby’s brother-in-law. The man introduces himself as Joseph and escorts the two of them into the parlor. Lucy takes a seat in the chair and he skulks over her like Beyoncé’s bodyguard. 

Joseph extends an invitation to dinner, the assumption being that they’ve been traveling all day.

“We're having venison,” Joseph advises.

Lucy quickly and politely responds that they aren’t hungry, but his mind is already churning. _If they’re having venison, they have a weapon. Yes!_

“Venison? You're a hunter?” he asks.

“No, I haven't touched a gun in years. I'm a God-fearing man,” Joseph responds nervously.

He’s not buying this guy’s crap for one second. Plus, Joseph is really looking squirrely.

“We hoped to speak to you and your wife together. Bathsheba, was it?”

“That's right,” Bathsheba replies confidently as she walks in and stands next to her husband.

He comments on her strong name and Joseph proudly proclaims that his wife is a strong woman. Bathsheba begins to question their story, and plays the part of pious villager to a tee. She even begins to elaborate on how her own sister has been accused for taking up the dark arts.

“A blessing, I suppose. If not for Abby, then for our village to be free from such evil,” Bathsheba states.

“Cut the crap, Bathsheba. I know that you've been making up lies, accusing women of witchcraft. Martha Corey was your neighbor, wasn't she? And, you got into a dispute over a property line and that's why you accused her,” Lucy declares as she stands up and gets right in the Puritan couple’s faces.

_Go, Lucy go! He loves it when she’s bold like this. Sometimes, he honestly thinks it’s from the piece of him she carries around within her. On second thought, that would be quite sexist of him and diminish the unbelievably amazing woman Lucy is._

Lucy and Bathsheba go back and forth at each other, hurling questions, accusations and indignations as far as the eye can see.

“How did they get you to do it? Did they threaten you? Did they bribe you? You sold out your sister for money, didn't you?” Lucy accuses.

“How _dare_ you?” Bathsheba replies indignantly.

“Who wanted you to accuse her?” he questions as he moves across the room and stands next to Lucy. 

It’s instinct really. He doesn’t even realize he’s doing it until it’s already done. He doesn’t want to smother Lucy, but he’s going to protect her, which means he doesn’t want to be too far from her at any time. 

“I demand that you leave at once! We will not be spoken to in such a manner in our own home,” Joseph declares with a huff.

_Is this guy serious? Lucy could kick his ass herself and he’d snap the man like a twig._

“We'll speak how we speak,” he growls back.

Lucy turns and catches his eye. She tilts her head slightly, sending him an unspoken message that he hears loud and clear. Not that it would take a genius to figure out what Lucy wanted him to do given the situation, but it does validate the eternal connection between them.

He grabs Joseph and throws him across the room into another chair, knocking it and him over. Bathsheba grabs onto him and pleads for him to stop beating her husband. He lets Joseph go (for now), and waits for Lucy to retake the lead. Just one glare causes Bathsheba to break. She confirms that she has accused women, but she couldn’t do that to her own sister. He looks to Lucy for confirmation and she nods her head slightly. If she believes Bathsheba, it’s good enough for him. He trusts Lucy’s judgment.

He gives Joseph and Bathsheba another evil glare for good measure, then escorts Lucy from the house. He can’t seem to wipe the smile from his face. _They really are quite the team, aren’t they? They’ve gone from awkward encounters to mastering non-verbal communication in the span of ten minutes._ No one does that; no one, except soulmates.

They don’t talk much on the walk back to the tavern. He’s not sure if it’s because his head is swimming in bliss from what just happened between them, or if he doesn’t want to test this fragile friendship that’s just begun. Either way, now is the time for thinking, not for talking. They need to figure out who accused Abby and who the sleeper agent is. _Maybe Rufus has had better luck._

When they arrive at the tavern, they find Rufus waiting patiently outside. They enter together and he purposefully picks a table in the corner. _Better lines of sight in case of trouble._

He sits on the side closest to the rest of the bar, knowing full well that Rufus and Lucy will choose to sit as far from him as possible. He strategically selects his seat so that Lucy and Rufus are in a more protective position, while he is the shield between them and the rest of the tavern.

“Well, it's not gonna be as easy as you think. Apparently, Puritans can really build a jail,” Rufus informs them.

“We have to get Abby out of there,” Lucy pleads.

“I vote _bloodbath_ , but I just need to find a damn _musket_.”

The constant reminders from his brain about locating a weapon are beginning to overwhelm him. He only has his fists and wits to protect the three of them and that is _not_ going to be enough. He just knows it isn’t. Something weird is going on here. 

He gets up abruptly and leaves the table. He strolls around the tavern, analyzing and observing the patrons with a wary eye. He scans the room and notices a gun on a man at the bar. Another man with a shaggy, blond beard tells him they need a word with him and his friends.

Muskets clack loudly throughout the tavern as a man grabs his shoulder with force. He is _not_ going back to prison under any circumstances, but he’s _especially_ not going to a jail in the seventeenth century where civil rights are nonexistent and the conditions rival a third-world slum. _These fools have no idea who they’re messing with._ He forearm punches the guy who grabbed him, then kicks the man behind him. _Two down, one to go._ He steamrolls over the blond man like the proverbial bull in a china shop and scurries out the back of the tavern.

He’s running as fast as he can, his feet barely touching the ground, as his flight response kicks into high gear. He knocks over another innocent villager as he disappears into the woods. He keeps running until he finds a large tree, then stops to catch his breath. He attempts to collect his thoughts, but his mind is actively betraying him. Flashes of the night his girls were murdered replay over and over, causing him to hyperventilate and panic more than he was before. He squeezes his eyes shut and repeats their names in his head; _Lorena, Lorena, Lorena; Iris, Iris, Iris._

 _Lucy! For fuck’s sake, he left Lucy!_ The guilt wracks him so completely that he contemplates going back for her right now. He’s unarmed though. It’s part of the reason why he ran to begin with. If all three of them are apprehended, Rittenhouse will have no problem getting rid of them and running amok throughout history. They’d get the Lifeboat. No, running was the smart thing to do, even if he can’t seem to forgive himself for leaving Lucy behind to face the consequences. Now, all he has to do is find a weapon somewhere in this god-forsaken town, save his teammates and Ben Franklin’s mother, and America as we know it. _No pressure, though._

He starts to mentally canvas the village in his head. He needs to find the most likely place to find a weapon. Then it hits him: Joseph and Bathsheba. He knows there’s a rifle in that house. Well, he’s almost ninety-nine percent sure there is. If he’s wrong though, he betting with Lucy and Rufus’ lives and that is not something he can take lightly. Since their home is on the outskirts of town, it’s the best option at this point. The Rittengoons will undoubtedly start searching for him in the town first, so that should give him enough time. He will not abandon Lucy and Rufus, not just because of his feelings for the both of them, but also because he’ll be stuck in 1692 Puritan hell otherwise.

When he arrives at the house, he doesn’t see anyone around, so he kicks the door in. He rushes around the parlor, searching everywhere he thinks they could hide a gun. He knocks over furniture, throws open drawers and generally destroys the house.

Suddenly, the door opens and he turns to find a very shocked Joseph standing there.

“What're you doing here? What did you do to our home?” Joseph questions demandingly.

He skulks over towards him with a menacing scowl.

“I could see it in your eyes. You have a rifle here. Where is it?”

“Get out of here!” Joseph yells.

“ _Where_ is the rifle?”

What happens next would absolutely be comical in any other situation than this one. After all, people’s lives are on the line. Joseph slaps him across the face. _Lucy hits harder than that_. He’s done playing nice. He’ll be more than happy to do this the hard way. He grabs Joseph and raises his fist, only to hear Bathsheba yell at him to stop. He turns to find her with the rifle pointed right at him. 

“I knew it.”

He flashes a devilish smile at Joseph, then throws him towards his wife. The couple falls to the ground and Bathsheba loses her grip on the gun. He bends down and picks it right up. _Like taking candy from a baby._

“Finally,” he exclaims as he holds the rifle in his arms like the precious cargo it is.

As he leaves the farm, he spies a small hatchet used for woodcutting sticking up from a tree stump. He grabs the hatchet and shoves it into his belt. 

He checks the next farm over for any weapons he can easily abscond with and only comes away with a knife. _It’s better than nothing._ He now has a seventeenth century rifle, a hatchet and a knife. _He’s made do with worse_.

After carefully surveying the situation in town from the shadows, he decides that the execution site will be his best bet. It will be dark soon, which should provide him with an edge. He’s fought in enough wars to know how to use the terrain to his advantage, so he cautiously makes his way to Proctor’s Ledge. 

He scouts the area in search of his best options. The high ground is always good, but he also has to worry about cover since he’s an army of one. He doesn’t want to purposefully put himself in danger, but the spot he chooses is further from the Lifeboat than he would like. Not that he wants to be left behind, but his main concern is saving Lucy and Rufus and returning them to the present safely. He takes his position in the inky darkness, hidden by the tall oak. It shouldn’t be long now. He can hear the chanting of the villagers as the lights from their torches get closer and closer. 

When the villagers arrive, they lead the accused towards Proctor’s Ledge. Unfortunately, Abby is first in line to be hanged. 

“Make way for these agents of hell. Abiah Franklin, the colony of Massachusetts Bay has found you guilty of witchcraft,” Hathorne proclaims loudly.

The executioners drag Abby onto the ledge and place the noose around her neck. The mob shouts all sorts of superstitious hate, from the old-faithful “devil lover,” to the enduring “burn in hell.” Then the chanting of “hang her now” begins and he knows he can’t wait much longer. He sees Lucy and Rufus with their hands bound among the throng of the accused. _If they so much as lay a hand on Lucy, he will kill them all!_

He needs to be precise with his first shot, but these rifles aren’t the most accurate. _Damn Agent Christopher for not arming him. What he wouldn’t do for a freaking glock right now!_ He shoots the rifle into the crowd and chaos ensues. He kills one Rittengoon, then quickly fires again. He’s in the middle of reloading when a man charges at him with a pistol in hand. He uses the rifle to strike the man, jarring him back slightly. Then, he goes for the pistol. This guy isn’t some simple Puritan. The man fights with modern techniques, blocking his attempts to disarm him with ease. Another gunshot goes off in the struggle, but he manages to avoid being hit. He grabs the pistol and dispatches the man. 

He reloads the rifle and when he lifts his eyes back up his heart slams into his throat. Lucy is trying to free Abby when Hathorne charges at her, slices her arm, and pushes her to the ground. She gingerly holds her wound as she prepares to fend off Hathorne again. His worst nightmare is about to play out right in front of his eyes. _Oh, hell no! Not his wife! Not his Lucy. No one hurts Lucy and lives to tell the tale._

He shoots Hathorne dead and his eyes lock with Lucy’s across the smoke-filled field. He can visibly view the relief as it spreads across her face. She holds her bleeding left arm, talks to Abby briefly, then runs in the direction of the Lifeboat. He can finally breathe again knowing that she’s no longer in danger. Now, he only has to worry about himself. He has to get out of here and back to the Lifeboat as soon as possible. He doesn’t want to think it, but he wouldn’t put it past Rufus to leave him here. 

He’s out of bullets. It’s time to move. The only weapons he has left are the hatchet and the knife, which means he needs to use them judiciously. A man is charging him, so he does a flip on the ground and uses his downhill momentum to throw the hatchet at him. The hatchet buries into the man’s chest and his assailant drops dead a second later. He scurries to his feet, grabbing the hatchet as he passes by the dead man. He surveys the landscape through the smoke and chaos, selects his best path forward, then makes a run for it.

As he sprints through the woods, he worries that Lucy’s wound might be worse than he thinks, so he picks up the pace. Plus, he does _not_ want to be left behind today.

A few minutes later, he arrives at the Lifeboat. Movement from behind him causes him to spin around with the hatchet in hand. Thankfully, it’s only Rufus. He tosses the hatchet into the grass, then climbs aboard the ship. He sinks down into his seat and straps himself in in no time flat. He glances over at Lucy and notices that she’s struggling trying to get herself buckled in. She’s clasping her left arm with her right and her beautiful face is smeared with blood. He would do anything to take away her pain. He quickly assess her arm from afar and is satisfied that she’s not going to bleed out in front of him. 

Lucy is still struggling with her belts, so he leans forward and buckles her in. She protests, but he tells her it’s okay as he does it. He won’t watch her suffer and struggle needlessly. He just won’t.

“Those women today, they were all supposed to die. Pretty big change you were willing to make to history, huh?”

“It's not what I'm willing to do. It's what I'm not willing to do. I can't sit back and watch innocent people die anymore. To hell with what's meant to happen and to hell with my mother,” Lucy declares.

“You're nothing like her, you know.”

He means it in every sense and he needs to ensure that she _knows_ it. No matter what life you’re talking about, she’s never been like her mother. Never.

“Yeah, I know,” she answers.

A huge smile spreads across his face. He’s truly proud of how brave she was today. With each little interaction, she becomes more and more like his original Lucy. 

“Let's go home. I'm starting to miss Wyatt,” Rufus mutters.

The Lifeboat lands in the bunker and the hatch opens. He lets Lucy exit first, knowing she needs to have her cut cleaned and examined as soon as possible. He exits a second later and almost slams right into her. He wasn’t expecting Lucy to be standing at the top of the stairs. He glances out into the bunker and understands why she is immediately. He peers over at Lucy and can tell how crushing this is for her right now. _What a fucking asshole! It’s bad enough he dropped Lucy like a piece of trash, but then he goes and dangles his wife in front of her?_ _He’d kill him himself right now if it wouldn’t upset Lucy even more._

He’s seeing red right now, but he needs to take care of Lucy. He gently places his hand on her non-injured arm and leads her down the stairs, staring daggers at Wyatt the entire time. When they reach the bottom of the stairs, he doesn’t pause one iota. He just leads Lucy out of the room and down the hall to their make-shift med bay.

He knows they don’t have the kind of relationship (at least not yet), where he can treat her wound for her, but he wants her to know that he is and will always be there. He’s not Wyatt. He won’t abandon her. 

Agent Christopher bursts into the med bay a minute later and he is promptly asked to leave. He exits the room, glancing once more at Lucy over his shoulder before he does. He doesn’t go far though, because he needs to ensure that she will be alright. It’s only a scratch in the scheme of things, but he never said his fear was rational. He’s never been rational when it comes to Lucy and he’s not going to start now. 


	22. Delta Blues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flynn reaches out to Lucy in hopes they can further their budding friendship.

After Salem, he didn’t have much time to fret over Lucy’s illness. If things were different, he would have stayed by her bedside throughout her feverish state, wiped her forehead with cold compresses and sat vigil to make sure the fever didn’t get too high. Unfortunately, Rittenhouse jumped and he had to go on the mission with Rufus and Wyatt to save a young JFK. Of course, the idiots left him there to take care of the sleepers. After dispatching three of them, he had to wait for them to come back to pick him up. At one point, he started to doubt that they would, but he prayed that Lucy would talk some sense into them.

He’s even more relieved when he returns to the bunker and sees Lucy up and about. _Not even seventeenth century germs can take that formidable woman down._ He just wants to check on her himself and ask how she’s feeling, so he lurks in one of the hallways waiting for his chance. He’s just about to pop around the corner, when he overhears Wyatt calling Lucy’s name.

He doesn’t _mean_ to listen to their conversation, but if he moves now they’ll hear him and think that was his intention all along. _This asshole actually has the nerve to thank Lucy for convincing his not-so-dead-wife to give him a second chance? Unbelievable!_ Nausea overtakes him as he hears Lucy tell Wyatt that he deserves to finally be happy. Her heart is broken because of this bastard and she’s still more worried about his happiness than her own. _Typical Lucy._ He has the urge to just take her in his arms, squeeze her tight and let her fall apart. He wants to show her what real love, true love, feels like; to show her the warmth, comfort and safety that it will bathe her in.

Lucy and Wyatt end their conversation and part ways. He waits a few seconds before peeking around the corner, but Lucy’s already disappeared into the bathroom. 

He strolls back to what these people call his bedroom, which is literally as big as his prison cell. He’d much rather be in more comfortable clothes right now, so he rummages through the drawers to find something to change into. Agent Christopher didn’t exactly provide him many options, so he selects some green cargo pants, a gray t-shirt and a matching gray hoodie.

After he changes, he sits on his bed for a while staring at the walls (well, if you can call that cot an actual bed. Even the one he had in prison was better than this). After the day he just had, he could really use a drink. He thinks he remembers seeing some beer in the fridge. He does want to check on Lucy, so he gets up and wanders down towards the kitchen.

The kitchen and most of the common room are dark, except for the flicker of the television and the glow from a small desk lamp. He pauses before he reaches the fridge and peeks into the common room. Normally, he wouldn’t have even glanced to see who was in there, but for some reason he felt compelled to tonight.

Lucy doesn’t glance back or respond to his presence whatsoever. In fact, he might need to check and make sure she’s still breathing over there. He can tell by her slumping posture and comfy clothes that she feels defeated. Her heart has been broken into a thousand pieces by Wyatt and his heart is breaking that she’s hurting so badly. If he could take away any or all of her pain, he would. He wants to rip Wyatt to pieces for breaking her heart, but right now he knows she needs a friend. He will be that friend; that shoulder to cry on; the one to lend an ear or support her in any other way she requires. 

He opens the fridge and grabs two beers. Cautiously, he approaches the loveseat. There is still no reaction from Lucy, so he takes a seat next to her with an audible grunt. _Is there one piece of furniture in this crappy bunker that is actually comfortable?_

He knows Lucy is aware of his presence at this point, so he proceeds to open both beers in his hands. She’s still in the same position as when he first entered the kitchen; head resting on her left hand with both feet on the coffee table. She has her burgundy sweatshirt on with her hair in a ponytail. Even with puffy eyes and no makeup, she’s still the most beautiful woman he’s ever laid eyes on.

He stares over at her and offers the beer without ever saying a word. He hangs in limbo for a few seconds before she finally moves her arm and takes the beer. Since she hasn’t said anything either, he remains quiet and readjusts his body position, trying in vain to get more comfortable. He’s a big guy, after all, and this little loveseat isn’t wide enough for his large frame. But, he’ll deal with a touch of discomfort if he can make Lucy feel better. 

He takes a swig of his beer and turns his attention to ‘ _It Happened One Night_.’ He’s afraid Lucy’s going to tell him to leave, but to his shock, she seems almost relieved by his presence. She doesn’t appear to want to have a conversation, so he sits there quietly and watches the movie, glancing over at her every so often to make sure she’s alright (well, as alright as she can be right now).

They sit in silence throughout the entire movie. Once it’s over, Lucy gets up, takes their empty beer bottles to the kitchen and says goodnight with a small smile.

“Goodnight, Lucy.”

He hopes he was able to help her a little bit. He made it clear he would be there if she needs him, so he gets up and retires to his own room for the night. He probably won’t sleep much with Lucy on his mind, but he’s used to that too.

When he wakes up the next day, it’s not because he’s no longer tired. Unfortunately, his interrupted slumber is due solely to the extra-curricular activities of Wyatt and his wife, which echo through this tin can like a yodeler in the Alps.

_Does this asshole have no shame at all? If he can hear it, Lucy certainly can. Hasn’t he put her through enough already parading Jessica around in front of her every, single day?_

He gets up and showers before the rest of them, then retreats back to his room until he hears more movement about. He decides that maybe he can join the team for breakfast, since he’s going to make an attempt to play nice this morning. Unfortunately, as he’s making his way towards the kitchen, he spots Lucy eavesdropping on a conversation that Wyatt and Rufus are having, and he too stops dead in his tracks. Lucy appears not to have taken notice of him, so he remains with his feet cemented to the floor.

After listening to some of their boyishly idiotic conversation, his heart begins to ache once again for Lucy. _Now they’re rubbing it in her face even more?_

He wants to scream at them to think before they speak, to stop being so childish and start being considerate of the feelings of others, but that will only embarrass Lucy even more. She doesn’t need any of it right now, so he remains quiet and content with the fact that _he_ will be the one that’s there for her while her heart mends.

Then, he watches as Lucy inhales a deep breath and strolls right towards the daffy duo. She smiles brightly as she offers her bed to Rufus, gladly accepting the cold couch in return. _She’s always worried about everyone else’s feelings._ It’s one of the reasons he fell in love with her to begin with, but once in a while he wishes she would worry about her own self first. It will also further isolates her from the team. At least Jiya could keep an eye on her before. Now, he’s going to have to make sure he does before Lucy lets the loneliness consume her. He does appreciate that she gets the last laugh by stealing the bathroom out from under Rufus’ nose though. _Atta girl!_

He waits until Lucy enters the bathroom before passing by the other two on his way to the kitchen. Since cereal seems to be the only edible thing they have right now, he pours himself a bowl and sits down at the kitchen table. He’s hoping Lucy finishes her shower and joins him for breakfast, but that hope diminishes as the bowl’s contents disappear. 

He finishes his breakfast and cleans his dishes, then hangs around the computer console area for no real reason other than to try and run into Lucy. His patience pays off a few minutes later as she shuffles into the kitchen and heads straight for the coffee. She sits down at the kitchen table and proceeds to sip away, oblivious to the world around her until the Mothership jumps and the alarm blares across the bunker.

Jiya is the first to the console, announcing Rittenhouse’s latest trip through time to the team.

“San Antonio, Texas. November 23, 1936.”

“Lucy?” Agent Christopher questions.

Lucy stands up from the table and starts running through the catalogue of events and dates in her brilliant mind. She shakily suggests it could potentially be the Texas Centennial Exposition.

“Six-million people attended, including President Roosevelt,” Lucy adds.

“FDR sounds like a Rittenhouse target to me,” Wyatt answers.

_As if anyone was asking him!_

“Agreed, but the exposition took place in Dallas, a few hundred miles away,” Lucy explains.

“What about you? Ever pick up any Rittenhouse intel about this?” Agent Christopher asks him.

“Zilch,” he replies as he leans up against the computer console to get a clear line of sight at Lucy.

“Well, if you're not here to provide intelligence, what are you good for?” Wyatt whines.

He gives him his best death glare and counts to ten silently.

_Wyatt is determined to test his patience, isn’t he?_

Suddenly, Connor sits up on the couch and starts spewing something about the Gunter Hotel. He can’t believe this guy is already drunk. It’s only 8:30 in the morning! Agent Christopher asks the question they’re all currently thinking, and Connor begins to explain that two guys changed the world there that day.

“How?” Wyatt questions.

“By recording a series of albums,” Connor proclaims.

“Okay, keep drinking,” he replies to Connor dismissively.

“Robert Johnson. King of the Delta Blues?” Connor asks.

The entire team continues to stare at Connor as if he’s speaking in tongues.

“Father of rock 'n' roll?”

The team is still silent, which only exacerbates Connor’s growing anger.

“You people are philistines!” Connor exclaims disbelievingly.

“Are you saying Rittenhouse is going after some blues singer?” he asks mockingly.

Connor goes on a tirade, explaining the importance of Robert Johnson to modern blues and the importance of modern blues on the fathers of rock. Rufus makes a quip about how listening to only Pat Boone would suck, but he’s still missing the larger geopolitical point.

Then he witnesses the genius in action. Lucy confirms Connor’s assertion, claiming Rittenhouse would kill the counterculture as we know it. And, of course, even after she clearly explains it all, Wyatt is still confused.

“Wait, wait, wait, you're saying all of this happens because two guys don't record an album?”

“Precisely,” Connor states exasperatingly.

Agent Christopher barks out her orders and Rufus chimes in that he thinks Connor should take the newly installed fourth seat.

“Absolutely not,” Connor states emphatically.

“Connor, you obviously know more about Robert Johnson and his albums than any of us,” Rufus pleads.

“Yeah,” Connor scoffs as he hold up his half-finished liquor bottle. “So, I'll debrief Lucy as you prepare to launch.”

He’s always been a perceptive man. It’s the reason the NSA hired him to begin with. The vibes and body language Connor’s displaying are just flaming-hot red flags.

“Are you-you _are_ afraid of riding in your own invention,” he accuses as he points his finger at the inventor.

“Wait a minute. All those test trips before we met you? You never once time-traveled yourself?” Lucy questions with incredulity.

“It's bloody dangerous,” Connor answers honestly.

He scoffs, shakes his head, then turns and begins to wander towards the Lifeboat. He honestly can’t believe the nerve of Connor right now. _How does Lucy put up with this incompetent bunch?_

Agent Christopher is having none of it and orders Connor on the mission. _Curious how the man stopped protesting once mama bear put her foot down, huh?_ He doesn’t blame him though. Agent Christopher’s a little scary at times.

“Flynn, you're on board this mission. Wyatt, you're staying here with me,” Agent Christopher commands.

Wyatt, Rufus and Lucy protest and he just smirks at Wyatt after hearing the news. 

“Look, Flynn's already been on a couple of missions. We either start trusting him or we don't,” Agent Christopher declares.

“We don't. We definitely don't,” Rufus declares.

Agent Christopher basically informs Rufus to suck it up, then ambles over to him with a metallic case in her hands. She opens the case and reveals a modern glock for him to use on the mission. He takes the gun and turns to board when Wyatt approaches him. 

“Keep them safe,” Wyatt warns.

He clicks the glock loudly in Wyatt’s face, making sure that there’s a bullet ready to go in the chamber.

“I wouldn't have it any other way,” he replies with a wink.

He boards the ship and they jump to 1936.

**_November 23, 1936, San Antonio, Texas_ **

Connor is the first to scramble out of the ship with Rufus following close behind. He exits after them, then turns back to help Lucy. Before he even realizes what he’s doing, his hands are on her hips and he’s lifting her into the air. He places her back on firm ground, then lowers his head slightly to try and hide the blush that is undoubtedly spreading across his face right now. 

She doesn’t move from his side as they both watch Connor ramble on about his first pilots. He glances over at her more than once, and each time she meets his eyes with a genuine smile. The slow spring thaw that is their relationship continues to proceed in the right direction and he couldn’t be happier. Plus, he doesn’t have to deal with Wyatt on this mission, which is always a good thing as far as he’s concerned.

“…Ah, this is quite ex-”

Connor vomits mid-sentence and he can’t help but smile. _Rookies._

“And, _boom_ goes the dynamite!” he laughs as he leaves Connor in his wake and begins walking out of the field towards the hotel.

It’s easy enough to find a car to steal once they get into town, but clothes are another story. He and Rufus feel like they walked an entire neighborhood before they found something that would fit them. Once they do, they quickly change and meet back up with Connor and Lucy, who of course had no problems whatsoever and have been impatiently waiting.

Rufus bursts into laughter the second he spots Lucy and she whacks him in the arm in response. Personally, he thinks she looks adorable in her burgundy beret and vest. The beret especially _does something_ to him. She could whisper to him sweet nothings in French with that beret on and he…needs to get his mind out of the gutter and back on the mission.

When they arrive at the Gunter, Lucy just flat out asks for Don Law’s room number. Since no one can ever refuse her charms, they get it without him threatening to punch someone in the face. _Disappointing for him, but it’ll save time._

They ascend the stairs to the second floor and he checks the hallway before waving the team to follow. He scans the room numbers as they approach the corner, then signals the team to stop. He can sense Lucy directly behind him long before she places her hand on his back to steady herself. 

As he peeks around the corner, he sees the sleeper agent kick in the door to the room. He takes off running down the hall, not bothering to let them team in on what’s happening. The sleeper agent takes aim at Robert Johnson, but he’s much faster to the draw. He shoots the sleeper in the back and the assassin falls dead to the floor. 

The next thing he knows, the team is entering the room behind him and Lucy is taking charge of the situation, complete with the usually ridiculous aliases. _Agent Timberlake? Really?_

Robert Johnson and Don Law don’t appear to be buying that they’re _actual_ FBI agents and he can’t blame them one bit. Then, to his utter shock, Connor steps up to the plate and hits it out of the park.

“Well, we're-I'm Lando Calrissian, British Intelligence, Kenya station. His Majesty sends his regards. So, we'll just remove the deceased, and you gentlemen can continue doing whatever it is you were doing.”

While Connor engages Johnson and Law, he checks out the door behind them making sure they’re aren’t other sleepers lying in wait.

“Remove the deceased! Are you mad?” Don exclaims.

Johnson freaks out that the guy just tried to kill him.

“And, you want us to pretend like it didn't happen?” Johnson complains.

“No, no, this is just a big misunderstanding,” Lucy assures them.

“He was a bootlegger, a common hood,” he adds.

Then, all hell breaks loose when Don starts accusing Robert of being cursed. The argument escalates and Johnson announces that he’s leaving. Connor pleads with Don to resolve the disagreement and record the album.

“Now, why would British Intelligence care about a music recording session, hmm?” Don asks mockingly.

“Well, uh, well, I suppose it's…”

Connor is looking to Lucy for some help and she blurts out that they’re fans. 

“Huge fans,” he echoes.

“Huge, big fans,” Rufus advises.

“Incredible fans,” Lucy states casually.

He knows her brain is scrambling right now. His is too, but neither of them are coming up with anything better than this feeble excuse.

“Yeah, well, whatever you are, you're wasting your time,” Don retorts.

“Why is that?” Connor questions.

“The other half of the equation’s gone, isn't he? Good luck finding him. His disappearing acts are legendary.”

Sure enough, Johnson has disappeared into thin air. Connor and Lucy discuss the dilemma and decide to split up the team.

“Now, would you kindly remove your dead fugitive from my equipment?” Don barks.

Connor and Rufus go off to find Robert Johnson, Lucy stays in the room with Don, and he gets the pleasure of disposing of the corpse. He removes his suit jacket, pushes up his sleeves, then stretches out a large rug. He tosses the body on top of the rug, rolls the corpse up and hoists it over his shoulder. He informs Lucy he’ll be back in a while and disappears out the door.

He can’t exactly lug this guy through the lobby, so he searches until he finds a service stairway. He moves as fast as he can as his brain scrambles to figure out what to do with this guy. He’s about two steps to the bottom landing when he hears a door open above him in the stairwell. He really hopes no one saw anything. It would be a _real_ inconvenience to have to add another corpse to this rug.

He uses his hip to open the door into the alleyway and shuffles out into the late afternoon air. Luckily, hotels don’t have alarms on the emergency exits like they do in modern times. He’d really have to hurry up if they did. He briefly thinks about ditching the body in the nearest dumpster, but he doesn’t want to make any more trouble for him or the team if someone finds this guy. He inches towards the entryway to the alley and peeks his head out to scout the street. About a block and a half down to the right is a large industrial-looking building. _Perfect._

He walks casually down the street trying to blend in as much as possible, but that’s easier said than done. His height alone normally draws attention to him. Plus, it’s not particularly normal for a well-dressed man in a suit to be lugging a large rug down the block, so he tries to push his limits a little. Sweat is starting to drip from his brow. He really doesn’t want to waste so much effort on a Rittengoon, so he strolls towards the first dumpster he can find once he reaches the industrial building. He dumps the rug into the dumpster and moves a couple trash bags around to cover the man’s face. He debates whether he should set it on fire, then remembers they don’t exactly have security cameras or DNA in the 1930’s, so he just leaves.

He really hopes the guys found Robert Johnson and brought him back to the hotel, because he’s had enough of this mission already. When he reenters the room, Lucy is playing around with the recording equipment. Don isn’t there, which does give him cause for concern. He readjusts the sleeves of his dress shirt now that he’s back to posing as a civilized man. Lucy asks him what he did with the body and he sarcastically asks if she really wants to know.

“Where's the bookkeeper?”

“Law went to go get the equipment to fix the recorder,” she explains.

He puts his suit jacket back on and tentatively begins to approach her.

“Lucy,” he states with a sigh, “I think it's time we, uh, leveled with each other.”

She eyes him warily, clearly a little afraid or mystified as to what he’s going to say next.

“I'm _way_ more fun on these missions than Wyatt, right?”

She lets out a light laugh. He grins sheepishly and chuckles with her. It’s so nice to see her laugh again, even if his joke was lame. Her smile is angelic and infectious and he wants to see it more often.

“You're delusional,” Lucy replies.

She wanders into the other part of the room towards the bed and he slides into the space she was just occupying in the archway. He’s trying to start a dialogue with her, but he’s stumbling and bumbling through it.

“Must be, uh, awkward between you two.”

“It's not awkward between us,” Lucy answers matter-of-factly.

_That’s a bold faced lie if he ever heard one. He’s seen first-hand the tension between her and Wyatt._

“Wyatt and Rufus giggling like schoolboys about Wyatt's late-night activities with Jessica? That wasn't awkward?”

“Nope.”

 _Another lie._ He doesn’t remember her being able to lie to his face like this before, but maybe he was too blind with rage to notice.

“So, that's not why you secretly keep a bottle of vodka under your bed?” he asks.

Lucy spins around like a whip and asks if he’s spying on her. He slowly begins to move across the room towards her, his body unconsciously drawn to her orbit like a magnet. She sits down on the bed and he continues to close the gap between them as he explains.

“No. I do remember reading about it in your journal. Lucy, when you gave me that book-”

“Which may or may not be true,” she interrupts.

She’s picking at the hem of her skirt, avoiding making eye contact with him. Every time he feels like their relationship is progressing in the right direction, Lucy begins to pull back and erect another barrier. All he wants is for them to be honest with each other. He’s always been honest with her, well, with everything except his feelings and their past lives. He doesn’t need her thinking he’s crazier than she already does.

“ _No_ , you gave it to me. You wanted me to read it and I did. Look, at first, all I cared about was that it was a tool to take down Rittenhouse. But, the more I read it, the longer I stayed with it, the more I felt like I knew you, understood you.”

She finally lifts her head and meets his eyes.

“Lucy, damn it, sometimes, I feel like I know you better than you know yourself.”

“What do you want from me, Flynn? You don't know me,” she states commandingly as she bores a hole right through him.

 _Ouch. That one stings._ He knows her better than he knows himself at this point, but she’ll never believe it and it’s not as if he can prove anything. If he tells her about past lifetimes with her, she’ll agree with the rest of them that he’s finally snapped. He takes a deep breath and swallows as he tries to play off how hurt he is.

“Well, I guess we're having our own awkward moment right now,” he mutters.

Suddenly, there’s a knock on the door and a bellhop enters advising they have a message from Rufus. He glances over at Lucy and watches as she snaps back into mission mode, effectively ending their awkward moment.

The bellhop leaves and Lucy is out the door a second later. His long legs allow him to easily catch up with her though. She spots Don on the staircase and tells him they’re going to record the album at Robert’s sister’s place.

“Carrie's juke joint. Yeah, we was looking for him there last week,” Don responds.

“We?” Lucy questions.

Suddenly, a woman appears at the bottom of the stairs with a gun and takes a shot at Lucy. He instinctually springs into action, simultaneously arming himself and grabbing her by the waist to pull her out of harm’s way. Another shot goes off. He waits a second, then peeks around the corner to assess the situation. He calls out for the bookkeeper, but there’s no response. He tells Lucy to stay where she is, checks the stairs once more, then descends to check on Don Law. He remains in a defensive posture in case the sleeper agent returns to finish them off, then checks the man for a pulse. He glances back up and finds Lucy poking her head around the corner.

“It was another sleeper agent.”

“And, we just sent her straight to Rufus and Mason,” Lucy answers with a look of worry.

He’s just as worried as she is, but probably not for the same reason. Sure, he doesn’t want anything to happen to Rufus, Connor or Robert Johnson, but Lucy was almost shot. He almost failed her. If he had been a second slower…

He saved her life, _again._ It’s a pattern he doesn’t care to repeat. She’s _everything_ to him. If he loses her, the darkness will consume what’s left of him and he will be irreparably lost in the abyss.

“Come on!” Lucy yells, breaking him out of thought.

They hurry back up to the room and hastily grab Don’s equipment. He leads Lucy down another hallway to the back stairs he used earlier so they can slip out unnoticed. The cops will undoubtedly already be on their way, so they need to steal Don’s car and get out of dodge as fast as possible.

It only takes a few minutes for him to find it. He throws the box of gear into the trunk, then hot wires the car. They fly along the dirt backroads of Texas, trying desperately to catch up with the sleeper agent. They haven’t spoken much since the hotel and he suspects Lucy turned the radio on to avoid having to talk at all. _At least she has good taste in music._

She comments that they should only be a few minutes behind the sleeper, but he reminds her she knows these roads better than they do. Silence fills the interior of the vehicle once more, which is how he hears the song playing on the radio. _Wished on the Moon._ The song is bittersweet for him. On the one hand, it reminds him of Lorena and what he’s lost. On the other, it reminds him of Lucy and what still might come to pass between them in a future lifetime. He’s wished, wailed and worshipped at the moon for one thing over and over again: Lucy. That will never change. He desperately needs her in his life and his attempts at extending that hand of friendship haven’t exactly gone as he’d anticipated. But, he’s not giving up on them just yet.

He begins humming along to the tune and he’s suddenly aware that Lucy is watching him. He doesn’t want her to look away. He’s too curious to see how long she’ll actually stare at him, so he pretends he doesn’t notice. 

Then, for some reason, he feels a sudden compulsion to be vulnerable with her, to show her they can be good friends and that he wants to know everything he possibly can about her. 

“My wife used to sing this song.”

He smiles as he thinks back on such a fond memory. He prefers to dwell on the little things when it comes to his girls. In his opinion, they’re the best kind of memories.

She doesn’t respond to his statement, so he decides to try to explain his intentions in a more direct way.

“You were right, Lucy. I don't know you.”

He knows plenty of _versions_ of her, but this Lucy? He doesn’t know her as well as he wants to and he’s desperate to convey that fact. They don’t have to be a romantic duo in order to be quite the team and take down Rittenhouse, but they do have to know and trust each other.

“I guess what I was trying to say back there is that I'd _like_ to get to know you. But, I understand if you don't want that,” he advises as he glances over at her quickly before returning his eyes to the road.

“My mother used to sing this song too.”

He peers over at her, but she’s staring straight ahead with a blank expression. She responded though. Now it’s up to him to keep this conversation alive, so he recalls how Lorena would lie on the couch humming it. He goes on to recount how it actually used to bother him, but now it’s the little details like that that he misses the most. He fondly reminisces about Lorena’s pranks, the smell of her hair and her icy feet at night. _The woman’s feet were like icebergs!_

Lucy smiles, and oh, how he loves that smile. Her smile could brighten the Marianas Trench it’s so blinding. The more he can make her smile, the better the chance they become the team they were always meant to be. She opens up a moment later, recounting her sister’s strawberry-scented shampoo and how they would snuggle at night dreaming of milkshakes.

It hits him like a knife to the chest. Just the mere mention of her sister does it. He doesn’t feel guilty about much that he’s done in his fight against Rittenhouse, but he’s laden with guilt about Amy. It hurt Lucy deeply to lose her sister and he’s pretty sure he’ll never forgive himself for it, so how can she?

“I never intended that to happen; your sister disappearing. I-I never wanted to hurt you, Lucy.”

“We'll never get the people back that we love, will we?” she asks.

He might not know everything about her yet, but he knows enough that he can tell when she’s looking for reassurance. She hasn’t given up all hope yet, which is definitely a good thing, but the spiral of doubt is certainly spinning.

“Only if we give up hope,” he answers as he glances over at her. “I know _somehow_ , _someway_ , we'll save the people we love.”

Their eyes meet, and for a split second he thinks he sees a flicker of recognition. It’s almost as if her soul recognizes its own missing piece; the piece that he carries within him. Or, perhaps it recognizes its mate. Whatever it is, it fades as fast as it came.

Suddenly, she shifts her body weight towards him, her arm resting on the back of the seat. A smirk spreads across her face and he is mesmerized. 

“You knew from my journal that my mother sang that song, didn't you?”

He nods his head a little bit. When he doesn’t see outrage and anger come over her, he decides to go for broke and pay her a compliment.

“You should know the Lucy in that journal…she's very, _very_ impressive.”

He knows his face is stuck in worshipful adoration mode right now, but he doesn’t care. Impressive doesn’t even begin to cover it. She’s the most amazing woman he’s ever met, which says a lot given how long he’s been walking this Earth. She smiles back at him, then turns her head to look out the window. He continues to beam at her for a few seconds longer, then his brain reminds him he should be paying attention to the road.

A few minutes later, they arrive at Carrie’s juke joint just in time to see the sleeper stroll through the front door. He slams on the brakes and flies out of the car after her. As soon as he crosses the threshold, he sees the sleeper agent kicking the shit out of Rufus. The sleeper throws Rufus into the wall like some sort of ragdoll, then deposits him on the floor before pointing the gun at him. A gunshot goes off, but he didn’t discharge his weapon. He does a mini-mental check of his own body for any signs of a wound, then scans the room once he doesn’t find any. 

Lucy screams Rufus’ name right before the sleeper falls down dead. Rufus gazes up at them and thanks him for saving his life.

“It wasn't us,” he clarifies.

Rufus turns around to find Connor behind him with a gun in his hand. He can tell Connor is still in shock. He knows that facial expression well. A man never forgets his first kill. 

After the smoke clears a bit, Carrie gets two of her friends to take care of the sleeper agent’s body. Connor is sitting at one of the tables, his head down, face dejected. He’s standing with Lucy, his hand leaning on the wall, putting his body in a defensive posture over her; just in case.

Rufus walks over to them and apprises them of the current situation.

“Johnson's still holed up in the storage room.”

“The sleeper killed Law,” Lucy advises.

“But we got your message and brought the equipment,” he adds.

“Yeah, well, who's supposed to work it?” Rufus questions.

Lucy suggests that maybe Connor can record the album. Then she asks if he’s managed to convince Johnson to do the recording.

“No, and after what he's just been through, I'm not sure he's gonna be able to,” Rufus explains.

“Rufus, you have to talk to him. He has to,” Lucy pleads.

He feels completely useless in this situation, so he informs Rufus that they’re going to go get the equipment. He gives him a thumbs up before turning to return to the parking lot. He’s not exactly the pep talk type. Everything he does right now just feels awkward, so escaping the scene for a few minutes seems like the logical thing to do.

Lucy follows him out to the car and they grab Don’s equipment.

“Do you think Rufus can convince Connor?” she asks him as they unload the gear.

“I hope so. Otherwise, Rufus’ Pat Boone comment might become a reality.”

When they get back inside, they begin to unload the equipment and Connor starts to set it up. Then, to their utter shock, Mason manages to convince Robert to record the album. 

Lucy takes a seat at one of the tables and he follows suit. He’s still nervous that Johnson is going to change his mind and this will have all been for naught, but then he glances over at Lucy. She doesn’t notice him gazing at her, but that electric smile of hers quells his anxiety in an instant. Robert starts playing and his guitar bathes the room with a resounding resonance. The sound soothes him into a state of serenity. Before long, his foot is tapping and his head is bobbing to the rhythm. 

Even if they could have a conversation without ruining the recording, neither he nor Lucy seem inclined to do so. It’s a strange sense of déjà vu sitting here listening to music with her. It brings back memories of their life in Nassau all those years ago when he would take her from the brothel down to the beach to listen to the fiddlers and drummers.

At one point, he thinks he catches her stealing glances at him when she thinks he’s not paying attention. It warms his heart, but especially after their awkward conversation, (a.k.a. his failed attempt at starting a friendship with her), earlier in the day.

It’s a nice distraction from bullets flying at their heads. To be able to sit and relax listening to good music with the woman he loves provides a well-earned respite from the war against Rittenhouse. It’s sorely needed by the both of them.

After the recording finishes, they all pile back into the car. They stop and grab a bunch of take-out food from a local diner (unfortunately, they have to leave Rufus and Connor in the car while they order). They drive back to the Lifeboat and Rufus programs the jump before diving into his dinner in case they need to make a quick getaway for some reason. 

None of them can stop smiling or laughing as they recount the mission. He doesn’t even think Connor stopped talking when they were mid-jump, which is an impressive feat in itself.

The Lifeboat lands and he follows Lucy out the hatch. Judging by her expression, Jiya is clearly not used to the sound of laughter bellowing out of the machine.

“Oh, my gosh! Jiya, you should've seen it. It was amazing,” Lucy exclaims.

“Mason was something truly to behold,” he adds.

“Sounds like you guys had fun, huh?” Jiya questions.

“Oh, well, yeah, that all depends, though. Were there hippies in the '60s? And a band called Led Zeppelin?” Connor inquires.

“Duh,” Jiya replies.

“You did it!” Rufus proclaims.

He’s halfway down the hallway before he realizes that Lucy isn’t walking next to him. He stops and glances back, watching as Lucy hugs Connor, then bounces down the hall towards him. He makes a dumb joke about Connor and she chuckles back. They walk side by side still giggling like teenagers while grinning from ear to ear. He can’t remember having more fun on any prior jump through time.

Suddenly, Wyatt calls out Lucy’s name. They both stop dead in their tracks. The smile disappears instantaneously from her face and the tension is as thick as fog. Wyatt asks if he can talk to Lucy for a minute. She peers over at him, silently conveying her permission for him to leave her alone with the idiot. He finds it interesting that she automatically knew he wasn’t planning to just abandon her. He’s her protector and that includes protecting her from Wyatt if need be. He smiles back at her, then turns and strolls down the hallway to his room. Even though today might not have started out great, he feels as if he’s made some headway in his friendship with Lucy. _One day at a time._

Once he’s back in his room, he slips on a comfy, gray sweater and some black cargo pants. Since he already ate dinner, he doesn’t plan on leaving his room until morning. Plus, he’s kinda tired. It’s been a long day. 

He picks up one of the books Lucy lent him and settles into that beat-up black chair of his.

A couple of chapters later, he hears tapping at his door. _’Tis the wind and nothing more_.He hears the rapping at the door again. _Must be the raven tapping at his chamber door._ He knows that Rittenhouse didn’t jump since there’s no alarm. He glances over at the clock on the wall. It’s _late._ _Who would be knocking on his door at this hour?_ He knows for sure it’s not Rufus. 

Rufus would be too terrified to wake him since normal humans are asleep at this time. He ignores it for a couple of beats, then puts his book down and goes to answer the door. 

He cracks the door open and finds an angel in flannel leaning against the wall carrying a bottle of vodka. Lucy looks up at him pleadingly and his breath hitches for a moment. _He’d give her anything and everything she could ever want and then some. She doesn’t need to beg with him._ He chuckles as she moves the vodka bottle into his line of sight, then gestures for her to enter the room. He shuts the door as quietly as he can. This is not what he expected his night to comprise of, but he’s quite fond of this surprise and will most definitely cherish it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry! I didn't skip over vodka night. It's coming in the next chapter.


	23. New York

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flynn and Lucy spend the night together, then head out to stop Rittenhouse from killing the Women’s Suffrage Movement.

Never in a million years did he ever foresee Lucy hanging out with him in his room. She obviously needs a friend and someone to talk to at the moment and he will happily be that person right now.

Lucy is standing in the middle of his room, hand clutching the vodka bottle like a life-preserver. Knowing her, she’s probably second-guessing her decision to knock on his door, so he tries to break the ice before she makes a run for it.

“To what do I owe this pleasure?” he asks playfully.

Lucy peers up at him shyly, then averts her eyes and stares at her feet.

“Um, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t intrude on your privacy like this.”

She turns to leave and he catches her arm.

“Lucy, it’s fine…really. Please, have a seat,” he states as he gestures towards his bed and chair.

A slight smile spreads across her lips as she spins back around.

“Are you sure?” she questions.

_Of course he’s sure! He’s never been surer of anything in his life. He wants to be there for her and give her whatever she needs, whenever she needs it._

“Yes, I’m sure,” he chuckles.

She shuffles across the room and takes a seat on the edge of his bed. Once she selects her seat, he ambles over to the chair and plops himself down. He doesn’t know if he should just start talking, if he should ask her a question, or wait for her to begin the conversation, so he just sits there and gazes across the room into her big, brown eyes. _He could so easily get lost in those eyes. He has so many times before._

After a few more moments of silence, he decides he’s going to have to bite the bullet before they sit here staring at each other all night.

“So…are you going to use the bottle as a security blanket all night or are we gonna drink some of that swill?” he asks with a smirk.

She smiles back at him with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes as she shakes the bottle slightly.

“Got any glasses we can use? Or, we could just slum it and drink from the bottle,” Lucy teases with a wink.

“As much as I wouldn’t mind slumming it with you, I think we can remain civilized for the time being,” he chuckles as he reaches into a drawer in the desk behind him.

He pulls out two small glasses and hands her one.

“Where did you find these?” Lucy questions as she opens the bottle and fills the glass halfway.

“They were in the drawer when I got here. I figured it must have been either from one of the officers or a couple of grunts that hid it from their superiors.”

She hands him the glass and he passes her the empty one. Lucy fills that one to the brim, takes a deep breath and then a huge gulp. He really wishes she didn’t feel like she needs liquid courage to be in his presence. On the other hand, the fact that she took the initiative to come to his room in the first place, especially after what happened earlier today, is a miracle in and of itself. He’s also never been one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

“ _So_ …what do you want to talk about?” he asks casually as he takes a sip of his vodka.

He literally has a thousand questions and topics of discussion he wants to delve into, but tonight’s not about him; it’s about Lucy.

“You said you wanted to get to know me,” Lucy replies.

_Understatement of the year._

She takes another big swig from her glass. 

“And, I’d like to get to know you as well,” she adds.

She leans forward and extends her hand towards him. He reciprocates and she shakes his hand heartily.

“Hi, my name is Lucy. I’m an Aquarius and I like history, reading, long walks on the beach, white wine…and vodka obviously.”

“Nice to meet you, Lucy. Garcia Flynn. I’m a Virgo, I think. I _also_ like history and the beach, but I prefer to be in the water. Vodka’s not bourbon, but it’s better than gin. I despise gin.”

“Despise is a harsh word,” she laughs.

“What can I tell you? I know what I like and what I don’t.”

He can’t help but gaze directly into her eyes when he says it. Her beauty captivates him constantly and he has to make a conscious effort to not get distracted by it. If he’s not completely vigilant, he knows his resolve will crumble.

“What else do you despise?” Lucy questions as she leans forward to hear him better.

He huffs out a breath, rests his elbows on his knees and leans even closer to her.

“How long do you have?” he jokes.

She whacks his arm playfully, then finishes off her vodka before pouring herself another glass.

“Seriously, though. It can’t be _that_ long of a list, Flynn.”

_Actually, when you’ve lived as long as he has, a list like that tends to be rather long, but he can’t exactly tell her that!_

“You’d be surprised,” he answers before guzzling the rest of his glass.

“Humor me.”

“Well there’s the obvious ones: Rittenhouse…Emma…Wyatt’s so-called cooking.”

He catches her mid-sip as he says the last one, causing her to choke and gasp for air as she laughs. Instantaneously, he springs up from his seated position, flies over to her, and pats her back as she tries to regain her composure. _All he needs is for Lucy to choke to death in his company. If he thought he had issues with Wyatt and Agent Christopher before…_

He sits down on the bed next to her as she catches her breath.

“Are you alright?” he questions with concern.

She nods her head, then turns and meets his eyes with that crooked smile of hers.

“I shouldn’t laugh, because I can’t cook at all, but Wyatt’s cooking is truly awful.”

“I could show you a few things that you could make…if you want,” he offers.

She looks shocked by his proposal initially, then leans forward and places her hand on top of his.

“I would really like that, Flynn, but maybe we should wait until we’re out of this bunker first. I don’t want to be responsible for burning down our only safe house while we’re in the middle of a war.”

The mere mention of the word war seems to dampen her mood. His brain starts scrambling for something to make her laugh. Nothing is coming to mind quickly.

The next thing he knows, she feigns a smile back at him before she refills both their glasses once more.

“To cooking lessons,” Lucy exclaims as she holds out her glass.

“Cooking lessons,” he echoes as he clanks his glass into hers.

An uncomfortable silence falls over them a minute later and he begins to panic. It’s most likely from being in such a close proximity to her, but he also feels as if he’s walking on eggshells right now. 

“What about you?” he asks.

She raises an eyebrow in confusion.

“What does Dr. Lucy Preston despise? Besides Wyatt’s cooking, of course.”

“Right now, pretty much everything,” she answers honestly. “Present company excluded, of course.”

She shuffles her feet on the concrete floor as she looks down at them with an air of despondence.

“Naturally. I’m just a big, fluffy, teddy bear. What’s not to love?” he asks as he turns his palms skyward and shrugs his shoulders.

He says it sincerely, even though he doesn’t mean it, but he’ll do anything to make her laugh right now. To his shock, it doesn’t elicit one from her. Instead, she twists her body to face him and lifts her hand to his forehead. He wants nothing more than to close his eyes and revel in her touch right now, but he’s not quite sure what she’s doing, nor can he react as he naturally would in any of their previous lifetimes. She keeps her hand to his forehead for a few beats, before he asks her what she’s doing.

“No fever, hmm.”

“ _What?_ ” he laughs.

“I thought you might have a fever, because you’re delirious,” she jokes as she moves her hand from his forehead and pokes him playfully in the ribs.

He toys back with her, yelling ouch loudly and acting as if she actually hurt him. She bursts out in laughter as she bumps his shoulder with her own. The alcohol is already kicking in for Lucy by the looks of it. He’s slightly buzzed, but she’s at least one level above him at this point and it doesn’t appear as if she’s slowing down anytime soon.

She sets ground rules that he can ask her anything as long as he avoids certain categories; namely, Rittenhouse, her mother and Wyatt. Those rules last as long as her next glassful of vodka does. In the interim though, they discuss everything from their taste in music to their favorite authors. By the time she needs a refill, they’ve delved into her strained relationship with her mother and how badly Wyatt hurt her. He tries his best to be objective, especially when it comes to Wyatt, but there’s not much he can say in the man’s defense. When she starts doubting and blaming herself and acting like she deserves the calamities that have befallen her, he puts a stop to it immediately.

“What did I tell you before? You’re nothing like your mother and you never will be,” he states emphatically.

“I know, I know,” she answers before she rests her head on his shoulder.

The next thing he knows, her fingers wrap around his bicep as she shifts more of her weight onto him. He freezes in fear for a moment before gazing down at her.

“Mmm, you smell good,” Lucy mumbles.

Her head is still on his shoulder, her eyes closed, and the glass of vodka is dangling precariously in her hand.

“Have you always smelled this good?” she adds as she glances up at him with hooded lashes.

She’s so beautiful right now. All he wants to do is kiss her like crazy at the moment, but he knows he can’t. It wouldn’t be right and he wouldn’t want to fracture this fragile friendship they’ve just begun.

“Ah, so you like the smell of gunpowder in the evening, do you?” he jokes.

She bursts out in laughter and falls into his chest, drenching his entire shirt in the process before they tumble onto the cot in a fit of hysterics. As ungraceful as it was, having her pressed up against him like this is driving him mad. He couldn’t care less about his wet shirt personally, but now Lucy is lying on it.

Once they stop giggling, he sits up slowly and supports her tipsy frame with his arm around her waist. Their lips are now an inch apart and she’s giving him _the look_. No matter what iteration of her he came across in the past, he could always recognize when Lucy was feeling amorous. _Don’t give in._ He would undoubtedly hate himself in the morning if he did. Plus, it’s _Lucy_. He could never do that to her. He respects and loves her way too much, but this is testing his resolve like nothing else before.

Slowly, he peels her fingers from his chest and stands up from the cot. The smile that had graced her face a few moments ago is now gone. Lucy reaches her hand out towards him, gripping onto the side of his shirt to steady herself. She apologizes profusely for soaking him, but he waves his hand and laughs.

Without even thinking about it, he strolls over to his dresser and removes his shirt. He throws the dirty one into his make-shift hamper in the corner, then opens the drawer and pulls out a fresh t-shirt. _He was getting hot in the other shirt anyway_. 

When he spins back around to check on her because she’s being _way_ too quiet, he finds her staring at him with her mouth agape. Her eyes rake up and down his body as she bites her bottom lip. His heart stops and his breath hitches as he struggles against her magnetic pull. His arms ache to hold and caress her. His mouth yearns to worship every inch of her body. _Stop it! Stay strong!_

Lucy attempts to lean forward and prop herself up on her elbows, but winds up tipping over and lands flat on her face. She quickly snaps her head back up, purses her lips and blows the hair that had fallen out of her face. Her eyes lock with his and she licks her lips lasciviously before purring “ _me…ow_.”

Normally, he would have some sassy comeback, but all he can do is turn a deep shade of crimson. As his willpower stretches to the limit, he pivots back around towards the door. He dons the new shirt quickly, then takes a deep breath and counts to ten.

He reels back around only to find Lucy passed out on the cot face down. He chuckles internally, then walks over and scoops her legs up and over the edge of the bed. She sighs and scrunches her nose in her sleep as he gently guides her body towards the pillow. He drags the blanket up and over her body, tucking her in snugly. A few errand strands of hair hang in her face, so he carefully brushes them aside.

He hovers over her sleeping form for a few minutes, watching as her chest rises and falls before retiring to his chair for the night. He knows he’ll sleep like crap, if he even sleeps at all, but it’s worth it. Lucy is in his bed. He’d prefer it to be under different circumstances, but he’ll take whatever he can get at this point.

A few hours later, it becomes readily apparent that sleep is not going to come for him. He knows it’s a little bit creepy to watch her sleep, but he can’t help himself. She’s mesmerizingly beautiful and worshipping her from afar is kind of his thing. Plus, he doesn’t trust himself to get any closer without giving into the compulsion to touch her. 

Although he got to know this version of Lucy a little bit better last night, he still has so much more to learn. There is one thing he confidently knows about her for sure though; she’s useless until she gets her coffee fix in the morning. This is precisely why he sneaks out early and brews her a fresh cup. He knows exactly how she takes her coffee, having observed her every morning for a while now. Plus, he wants to get out there before one of his teammates attempts to make a pot, because none of them would know a decent cup of coffee even if someone threw it in their face. Well, Connor perhaps might, but the man generally avoids the java juice and sticks to his beloved Earl Grey. 

He tries to be quiet as he mills about the kitchen, then makes his way back to his room. The roasted aroma wafts through the air, causing Lucy to stir. She rubs her forehead slightly, then meets eyes with him across the room and freaks out slightly.

“Oh my God!” she exclaims as she pushes the blanket down and sits up in the bed.

She looks adorable as she blinks through the haze of the morning, even with her bedhead. Lucy runs her hand through her hair, repeats her prior exclamation, and then apologizes to him (for what he has no idea).

He knows from past experience that she’s not exactly a morning-person, but he decides to continue the theme of last night and tease her a bit. Plus, he’s beyond curious as to how she’ll react.

“There’s nothing to apologize for. You were a gentle and responsive lover.”

She stares back at him, her eyes narrowing as she searches through her hazy memory of last night. She looks horrified at the proposition, which crushes his heart. _Remember your promise. There is no you and her in this lifetime. But, the journal did say…_

The angel and devil arguing inside his head is making him dizzy.

“I wasn’t _that_ drunk.”

He rubs his hand over his face and laughs heartily at her enunciation, knowing damn well that she was indeed _that_ drunk last night.

“Nothing happened,” he clarifies.

_Something could have happened, but he’s too much of a gentleman to take advantage of her like that. He’s also too much of a gentleman to detail her flirtatious behavior if she doesn’t remember it._

She runs her hand through her hair again and stretches her body a little bit. He’s hurt by her reaction, but he tries to brush it off as best as he can.

“Though I appreciate the look of abject horror on your face. Thanks for that,” he advises as he sits up and hands her the cup of coffee.

She takes the cup from him and apologizes again. She takes a tentatively sip from the cup as he slumps back into his chair.

“That’s alright. I enjoy the company,” he confesses.

He means every bit of that. Life is never dull when conversing with Lucy. They’ve spent many days in many lifetimes just talking for hours. Plus, the rest of these people are a bunch of weirdos. He likes Jiya and Rufus, but if he hears one more Star Trek versus Star Wars argument, he might just blow this place to smithereens.

She chuckles aloud, a slight blush creeping into her smile, then averts her eyes. It seems like she wants to say something to him, but she’s not sure how he’ll react, so she stays quiet. 

He knows he can’t hide the grin etched into his face right now. He desperately craves to strut across this room, take her in his arms and kiss her senseless. No matter how hard he tries, he can’t help but be utterly, hopelessly in love with her.

“What?” he questions with a chuckle.

She pauses again for a moment, then lets out a little laugh.

“No, it’s just…don’t take this the wrong way but, I just think it’s kind of insane that out of all the people here, you’re the easiest to talk to.”

It means more to him than she’ll ever know. He himself often marvels at just how well they can communicate. He beams back a genuine smile. For the first time in years, he feels as if he’s not completely alone. If Lucy will reciprocate the branch of friendship he has extended, he hopes to have many more nights like the last.

He can’t exactly explain to her that their ease of conversation stems from the fact that they’re soulmates, so he tries to emphasize how much they actually have in common in _this_ life.

“We’ve both lost our families to Rittenhouse and we’re both alone,” he points out.

It’s a plausible explanation for why they get along so swimmingly, but it only serves as a painful reminder for Lucy. He didn’t mean to upset her. In the hopes of seeing that signature smile of hers once more, he leans on his go-to crutch: humor.

“We’re both _geniuses_. If anyone knows what you’re going through, it’s me,” he states playfully.

His comment elicits the reaction he was hoping for. She flashes him that charming, crooked smile of hers and his heart melts. She runs her hand through her hair once more, then stands up from the cot. She takes another sip of the coffee. He revels in the fact that he made it just like she likes it that she’s finishing his culinary creation.

“I will now remove myself from your personal space; leave you to it,” Lucy mutters awkwardly.

She empties the coffee cup and places it onto the desk by the door. He gazes back across the room at her with an undoubtedly lovesick expression across his face. He doesn’t want her to leave, but he’s not complaining about the view either.

“Thank you for the coffee and the _just_ talking.”

“Anytime,” he answers as she exits the room and shuts the door.

Normally, the smile that graces his face when Lucy’s in his presence would be gone the second she’s no longer in his orbit, but not today. His cheeks hurt from smiling and laughing so much over the past few hours. It’s so close to that same feeling he had all those years ago in Atlantis when they first met. In fact, it’s so eerily close to the exact same scenario it’s a tiny bit unsettling. Both times she came to him and both times they drank for hours and conversed as if they had known each other for years. 

As much as he would love to sit here and stew in this blissful glee, he knows that if he doesn’t get to the shower soon, that water hog, Wyatt, will use up all the hot water. _Though_ _it might be best if he took a cold shower this morning, considering how hot and bothered Lucy has already made him_.

He hefts himself up from the chair, grabs a change of clothes and his towel from the back of his door, and heads down to the bathroom. The chair isn’t in front of the door, but he can hear someone moving around in there. He pokes his head in to find his _favorite_ bunker mate staring at himself in the mirror. _It’s way too early for him to have to suffer this fool._

“Hey, any hot water left?” he asks as he slings his towel over his shoulder.

Wyatt glares back at him through his reflection in the mirror.

“Stay the hell away from her.”

He’s taken aback for just a heartbeat, then realizes that this behavior is stemming from Wyatt’s jealousy. Internally, he’s giving himself a high-five.

“Oh, you mean Lucy? You know she's not your wife, right? That's the uh, blonde lady just down the hall; unless history's changed again,” he states with a slight chuckle.

_He loves trolling the hell out of this asshole. If it was an Olympic sport, he’d win the gold each and every time._

“I'm warning you,” Wyatt grumbles.

The gall of this man is unbelievable. Wyatt got his wife back and paraded her around in front of Lucy, rubbing her nose in it and shattering her heart over and over again. He’d kill him if he could, but he knows he can’t, so trolling him is really his only offense at this point.

“What is it you want from her, Wyatt? Because if you have a problem, I suggest you talk to Lucy about it. She's perfectly capable of making her own choices, don't you think?”

 _Of course she is!_ He would never presume to tell Lucy who she could or couldn’t talk to, hang out with or even sleep with. It’s her business and hers alone. _What sort of Neanderthal do you have to be that you can’t see that this beautiful, intelligent, passionate woman is quite capable of making choices for herself?_

Wyatt continues to glare at him as he strolls towards the shower. Once Wyatt leaves, Flynn puts the chair in front of the bathroom door, then strips his t-shirt, pants and underwear off. The shower water isn’t what he would describe as hot, yet it’s not freezing either, which is a good thing. He planned to just jump in, get clean and jump out, but his thoughts wander to Lucy and his hand wanders down to his cock. He knows no one will hear him with all the noise that the pipes and water make and he’s pretty sure no one will walk in on him, so he decides to try and release some of his pent-up sexual frustration.

He lathers the soap across his chest and closes his eyes as he thinks of Lucy. There’s always a few choice memories he has of her that will get him harder than a rock in two seconds flat, but for whatever reason, his mind wanders back to Nassau this time. _He loved her in those corsets, but he loved her even more when she wore his sabre, pistol and holster and nothing else._ He strokes himself hard and fast, imagining her mouth around his shaft as her tongue runs a stripe down the length of it. _God, this feels good._ It’s been a little while since he’s done this, so he knows he won’t last long. Plus, the semi-lukewarm water is bound to run out soon. 

Normally, when a man jerks off and fantasizes about the woman he wants to be with, he has to allow his imagination to take the reins, but in his case, he already knows how Lucy’s lips and hands feel. There’s no need to use his imagination when he can just draw on his memories of the past. He whispers her name over and over as he pumps himself to the edge. He weaves his fingers into her imaginary hair as she deep throats him, causing him to spill a moment later.

He cleans himself up, shuts the shower off and towels dry. He dons clean clothes, then heads back to his room. He barely gets his shoes on when the alarm goes off in the bunker, indicating the Mothership has once again jumped.

When he makes it to the common room, he finds the team already discussing their theories on why Rittenhouse has jumped to 1919 New York. 

“Wilson is staying at the York Hotel,” Lucy advises.

“It's a place to start,” Wyatt replies.

The team boards the Lifeboat and as soon as he makes it to the bottom of the stairs, Wyatt attempts to push them away.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” he exclaims.

“Hey, where do you think you're going?” Wyatt demands.

“1919?”

“Yeah, we're good, thanks,” Wyatt retorts.

Agent Christopher chides Wyatt, yet he continues to make matters worse.

“Uh, yeah, we're a team already. We're the Beatles. We don't need Yoko.”

“You do realize there were four members of the Beatles, don't you?” he sasses back.

 _Wyatt just makes this way too easy._ Agent Christopher reminds Wyatt that they have four seats and they’re not leaving one empty. Wyatt suggests they bring Mason instead and Connor basically tells him to fuck off.

“Flynn's going. End of discussion,” Agent Christopher commands.

“She's the boss,” he reminds Wyatt as he climbs the stairs.

Wyatt gives him the evil eye, which is all he really can do now that they’re standing in front of the entire team. He decides to push his luck and troll the man one more time.

“Oh, don't forget to say goodbye to your wife,” he reminds Wyatt with an evil smirk before he climbs aboard the Lifeboat.

He buckles himself in, and once Wyatt is aboard and buckled as well, they jump to 1919.

Thankfully, when they arrive in New York, it doesn’t take them long to find clothes to steal. They change as fast as they can, then head to the hotel in search of the President. They haven’t been in the lobby more than two minutes when a gunshot goes off in the distance. He and Wyatt take off running in the direction of the shot. Neither of them finds anything, so they head back to the lobby and meet back up with Rufus and Lucy. 

A few minutes later, the entire lobby is swarmed with police and press. 

“I'm gonna find out what's going on,” he informs the team.

“Yeah, I got it,” Wyatt snaps back.

“No, I don't mind.”

“I said I got it,” Wyatt growls.

Lucy suddenly makes a beeline towards the nearest police officer, so he quickly follows.

“Excuse me. Excuse me, Officer, was President Wilson shot?” Lucy asks.

“Sir, please control your wife,” the police officer orders.

Lucy’s head cocks sideways and he cringes. This guy is about to get an earful from his “wife.” It’s also not lost on him that everyone seems to assume they’re married. It’s almost as if everyone _but_ Lucy can see it. Normally, he would be more than happy to allow her the opportunity to defend herself and her gender, but they need information and they need it now. This cop is never going to tell them anything if Lucy goes off on him, so he jumps in.

“Excuse me, Officer, what happened with President Wilson?” he questions.

The police officer informs them that the President is safe and there’s no more information at this time before walking away from them. A second later, Lucy stops a reporter passing by and learns that Senator Wadsworth has been shot and killed.

“They already arrested some militant suffragette. Alice Paul,” the reporter advises.

Lucy explains who Alice Paul is and just how important and influential she is to American history. 

“So, Alice Paul killed Senator Wadsworth?” Wyatt questions as he fails to follow along.

“No, no, Alice didn’t kill anyone. She led the National Women's Party for the next fifty years,” Lucy explains.

“So, the sleeper must have killed Wadsworth. Is he important?” he asks Lucy.

Lucy explains that Alice is the important one and that if she doesn't give that speech today, there's no telling when women will get the right to vote.

“Okay. So, we got to get Alice out of jail,” Wyatt surmises.

“I'm gonna head out and find the sleeper,” he informs the team.

“Easy, tiger. You're here for backup, that's it,” Wyatt states dismissively.

“Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't realize, since you were so busy taking off your personal days,” he quips back.

_The nerve of this guy!_

“Guys, hello? Alice. The speech. Today,” Lucy reminds them.

Wyatt divvies up the team, forcing him to work with Rufus to find and neutralize the sleepers. Lucy sets up a rendezvous point for them that afternoon at the march and then she leaves with Wyatt. Rufus looks uncomfortable as hell with this proposition, so he tries to allay his fears. 

“Rufus, we're on the same team now. Okay, look, I promise not to kill you this trip,” he states as he places his hand on Rufus’ shoulder. “Feeling better?”

“Actually, I do. 'Cause you're not gonna kill me this trip.”

“See? Nothing to worry about,” he advises as he slaps Rufus on the shoulder with a smile plastered to his face.

“That's right. I ain't worried about a damn thing!” Rufus exclaims as he strolls towards the exit.

The smile leaves his face as he watches Rufus literally struts towards the door.

_What the hell has gotten into him?_

He follows Rufus up the stairs to Senator Wadsworth’s room and slips inside when the cop at the end of the hall isn’t looking. They start looking around the room (well, he does anyway). Rufus seems way too preoccupied with the bloody sheet that he’s found at the bottom of the bed. Rufus asks him what they’re looking for. He thought that was rather obvious, but he guesses not. 

“Well, the sleeper agent killed Wadsworth and framed Alice Paul, so maybe he left a clue. So, maybe we can find him, so I can kill him,” he advises as he checks the pockets of the pants he found.

“You know, sometimes I think you're normal. Then you say stuff like that, and I remember, oh, wait, no, he's _frickin'_ nuts!”

Suddenly, the door opens and a cop enters and questions what they’re doing. Flynn tells the cop that they’re Pinkertons, but the cop isn’t buying it at all. Rufus tries to act all suave and introduces himself as John McClane, making him Hans Gruber, which earns Rufus his best “really?” look.

Unfortunately, the cop must spot his weapon, because the next thing he knows they’re at gunpoint with their hands up. Rufus starts egging him on to take down the cop, reminding him in front of the officer that he’s been killing guys all week. The officer cocks his gun, but Rufus just keeps going.

“Hey Flynn, Flynn it up, Flynn.”

“Stop talking,” he chides.

“Take him down!” Rufus orders.

“Stop talking!”

A gunshot rings out and he waits for the pain, but it doesn’t come. Slowly, both he and Rufus turn around as they hear a loud thud, only to find Emma with her weapon trained on them. His eyes meet Rufus’ and they both silently acknowledge that their situation has gone from bad to worse.

“I missed you, Flynn,” Emma declares as she begins to close the gap between them.

“Great. It's Emma. _Yay_ ,” Rufus states sarcastically.

It’s the first time he has laid eyes on Emma since he was arrested and she stole the Mothership. He doesn’t take betrayal well; he never has. Yet, for some reason, Emma’s betrayal stings greater than some of the others he’s experienced in all his lives. He’s not absolutely certain why that is, but he knows it fills him with a murderous rage. 

It only takes Emma looking down at the dead cop for one second for him to pounce. He grabs at her gun, setting it off as they struggle for control. He slams her into the table as he takes possession of the gun, breaking the glass pitcher in the process. He’s lost all constraint right now, allowing his anger to fuel his rage. He spins Emma around and grips her up by her jacket lapels.

“Admit it. This gets you kind of hot and bothered, doesn't it?” Emma taunts.

He dares her to give him a good reason why he shouldn’t just kill her right here and now, and she informs him she knows who the sleeper is.

“You need my help,” Emma advises.

“Help? _You're_ gonna help us?” Rufus questions doubtfully.

Emma explains she’s calling a one-time truce and that she wants this mission to fail. She promises she won’t hurt them.

“Oh, I should just take your word for it, you piece of-”

“Aww, did I hurt your little psycho feelings when I double-crossed you? Poor, little baby,” Emma derides.

He jerks her towards the front door, but doesn’t release his hold on her. He’s had just about enough of this and is really leaning towards putting a bullet in her brain.

Emma reminds them that she didn’t have to kill the cop and could just have easily killed them instead. He’s absolutely seething at the moment and has had enough of Emma’s games. He lets go of her with his right hand, grabs his gun and shoves it into her face. Emma knows he means business, so she puts both of her hands up and begins to tell them what Nicholas has planned for this mission. 

“We can find the sleeper agent without you,” he snarls.

“There's also some other orders. There's orders to kill Lucy. Like it or not, I'm your best shot,” Emma advises.

He is fuming when he hears this news. It makes logical sense to him that Rittenhouse would target the heart of their team, the glue that keeps this rag-tag bunch together. If he was the team’s true enemy, he can’t say he wouldn’t do the same. But, the thought of losing Lucy is unbearable to him, especially after how close they’ve gotten lately. He will _not_ stand by while another woman he loves is murdered. 

He decides to play along with Emma for now, despite Rufus’ misgivings. Emma leads the way as they weave through the hotel corridors. He definitely wants to keep her in front of him in case this is a trap, but he also wants to find out what the hell got into Rufus back there.

“Right, so you want to tell me what happened back there with that cop? I mean, what, you don't care if he blows your brains out?” he asks.

“Maybe, I'm just super brave.”

“Yeah, and maybe, I'm Jean-Claude Van Damme,” he deadpans.

Rufus goes on to explain that Jiya informed him he dies in cowboy times, so as long as there’s no cowboys, there’s no dead Rufus. 

“Until someone blows your kneecaps off, you idiot!”

Emma suddenly stops and turns around, teasing them about acting like whispering schoolgirls. He tries to coax the information about the sleeper out of her, but she’s not going for it whatsoever. He does make sure that Emma knows he’s not playing around. He shoves his gun into her back for good measure. Emma finally caves and tells them they’re on their way to the march, because the sleeper is a suffragette. Immediately, his thoughts fly to Lucy. A desperation to get to her wells up inside him. His drive to protect her has never been greater. He cannot fail her. 

They move to another part of the hotel that overlooks the street the march will take place on and wait. He peers out the window, keeping one eye out for the march to begin and the other for Lucy. He still doesn’t trust Emma, so he stands there with his gun out in the open and ready for action.

Emma tries to make small talk with Rufus, but he gives her one of his signature sarcastic responses instead. Emma reiterates that they need to trust her in order to neutralize the sleeper, which prompts Rufus to go off on a tirade about how he sucks at picking friends.

“What's in this for you?” he asks since he hasn’t been able to figure out her angle so far.

“I like voting.”

“Oh, please. You only ever cared about one person: you. So, uh, why are you really doing this?”

“If I tell you, will you let me do what I came here to do?” Emma questions in response.

He doesn’t make any promises, but listens as Emma starts describing the abuse she endured at the hand of her father. She even shows them the scars to prove it. He slowly moves towards her as he tries to silently ascertain whether she’s telling the truth. As he peers into her eyes, there’s that familiar flicker of recognition of someone who’s suffered great physical and psychological trauma. He knows that look well. Until Lucy walked into his life in Rome, he had that same look in his eyes. After Lorena and Iris died, he had it again. 

He slowly pulls out another gun from his waistband and hands it to Emma. Emma takes the gun, nodding slightly as a thank you.

“Great! Now both my enemies have guns!” Rufus exclaims as he walks off towards the stairwell.

Emma and Flynn follow him and they all make their way back onto the street. The suffragettes are beginning to march, so Emma slips into the crowd of marchers and Flynn stalks her movements from the sidewalk. 

A minute later, they run into Wyatt. They learn Alice Paul is dead and convey the information that the sleeper is a suffragette. Wyatt flips his shit when he hears they’re working with Emma and it takes Rufus explaining the one-mission truce for Wyatt to calm down a little. He tells Wyatt that Emma is the only one who knows what the sleeper looks like, but that he’s keeping an eye on her just in case.

Suddenly, Emma is no longer marching and he scrambles around trying to find out where she slinked off to. He turns back to his left and spots Lucy. The entire team sprints towards her, his eyes roaming over her for injuries as he does. Lucy confirms that Emma shot the sleeper and saved her life. He breathes a sigh of relief, but he still wants to kill Emma. Unfortunately, the evil bitch slithered back into the shadows. He’s extra hard on himself right now for not being there to protect Lucy, but he can’t wallow in his guilt since they still have a mission to complete.

Lucy advises them that President Wilson’s car is pulling up outside the hotel before making a beeline for it. His instincts scream out to follow her to ensure her safety, but there’s also the matter of these asshole cops beating innocent women in front of his eyes. It’s a sight that shocks him to his core and boils his blood. Wyatt meets his eyes and the two of them head straight on into the fray, helping as many of the women as they can.

Suddenly, he spots Rufus gripping up a police officer that’s beating one of the suffragettes. The cop gets the upper-hand and he bolts into action. Rufus is about to be potentially beaten to death by a baton and he doesn’t want that to happen to his friend. Plus, Rufus is his ride home and he doesn’t particularly want to be stuck in 1919.

He grabs the cop’s hand, head-butts him, then punches him out. He extends his hand down to Rufus and helps him back to his feet.

“I totally had that,” Rufus states as he wipes the blood from his mouth.

“Yeah, sure you did.”

Rufus spots the President on the steps to the hotel and they both take off to help ensure Lucy gives that speech.

They make it a few feet from where Lucy is when they hear her yell out to the President multiple times. Then, to both of their surprise, a woman stands up and gives an awe-inspiring speech.

“For how long can men expect their sisters, their mothers, their wives, their daughters to expect- _to accept_ less than what justice demands? Women's suffrage is inevitable.”

They watch as President Wilson tips his cap before entering the hotel, then wade through the crowd towards Lucy and Wyatt. Rufus is holding his ribs moaning and groaning the entire walk.

“You're an idiot, you know that?” he chides.

“Well, I'm alive, aren't I? _And_ , in a ridiculous amount of pain,” Rufus admits.

They reach Lucy and Wyatt and he pleads with Lucy to talk some sense into their friend.

“A little help here, please?”

“Oh, my God, Rufus, what happened to you?” Lucy questions with worry.

“Can we just get out of here?” Rufus replies.

“Apparently, ‘invincible’ doesn't mean what he thinks it means,” he grumbles as they stroll down the sidewalk on their way back to the Lifeboat.

They jump back to the present and he uses the chaos surrounding Rufus and his injuries to slip by Agent Christopher and hopefully avoid her classic debriefings (at least for the moment). He heads back to his room to change and his mind wanders to whether he might have a visitor again later on tonight. He decides it’s a possibility that Lucy might want to hang out and talk again, so he throws on his nice, gray turtleneck and one of his many green cargo pants.

He allows her sufficient time to change and get cleaned up from their mission, then leaves his room in search of her. He wants to extend that olive branch tonight since she came to him the previous night.

He makes it halfway to the common area when he hears Lucy’s voice. Then, he hears another voice; one that makes him cringe almost instantly. Wyatt. He doesn’t mean to eavesdrop (once again), but he can’t help but overhear Wyatt tell Lucy that he still cares about her. _Is there no end to Wyatt hurting her?_ Then, the dickhead goes on to berate her and slut shame her for sleeping with him. _Wait, when did they have sex? He’d have to be unconscious to not remember that!_ It doesn’t surprise him that Wyatt thinks so low of him that he’d believe he would take advantage of Lucy when she was so vulnerable. She didn’t have to tell him that nothing happened either. In fact, he’d prefer Wyatt thinking the opposite, if only to mess with his head. 

He opts to sneak back to his room and wait for Lucy. After what he just witnessed, she’ll definitely want to talk again tonight. _Highlight of his day._


	24. South Carolina

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucy confronts Flynn about the journal. The Time Team makes another trip to the Civil War.

He just has to make sure Lucy makes it back from 1981 safely. He just has to. Once he spots her beautiful face, he breathes easy again. He quickly scans her for injuries, and after ensuring himself that she’s alright, he returns to his room in the bunker. This will give Lucy time to speak with Agent Christopher and unwind from the mission. _If she needs him, she knows where she can find him_. 

Maybe an hour later, he’s sitting in that atrocious chair reading, when suddenly there are two quick knocks at his door. He doesn’t even get the chance to respond before Lucy barrels inside.

“When you gave me the journal, you said you got it from me.”

“Please do come in,” he states with a wave of his hand.

He didn’t mean to call her out on her rude behavior, since internally he’s loving the fact that Lucy felt comfortable enough with him to just stroll on into his room, but it slipped out anyway. Lucy wants to know what he meant by his statement about the journal. After double checking that this is indeed what she wants, he closes his book and gets up from the chair. He tosses the book on his desk, then closes the gap between them. He’s not close enough that he can touch her, but he can still gaze deep into her eyes. If he was any closer, he doesn’t know if he would be able to keep his composure. He might just break down into her arms as he recounts this story. Not only is it a reminder of what happened the night his girls were murdered, but it’s also a reminder of how utterly lost he was when she gave the journal to him. However fraught his memories are, the fact of the matter is Lucy saved his life that night. That’s nothing to be taken lightly. He doesn’t really want to admit to anyone how close to suicide he was, let alone admit it to Lucy, but he can’t give her a full explanation of the situation without confessing this fact.

He explains that two weeks after Rittenhouse killed his family, he was in hiding and wound up a semi-suicidal man in a bar in São Paulo.

“I was on my third drink when you walked in. You looked maybe five-years older than you look now, uh, but no less…”

He can’t even meet her eyes or say the word beautiful to her face. He would love nothing more than to confess everything to her right now, but the shock he’s about to give her is enough. The last thing she needs is an unrequited infatuation being brought to light.

He glances back up at her and she stares back with expectant eyes.

“You looked _good_. You told me your name. You-you knew everything; how my family died; that Rittenhouse was behind all of this,” he explains as he moves even closer to her.

He elaborates on the fact that she told him he would need her help in order to stop Rittenhouse. It was after that that she handed him the journal.

“So, Lucy, you started all of it.”

She argues that it’s impossible since they can’t travel in their own timeline. He acknowledges that fact, but suggests that perhaps their genius bunker mates will figure it out.

“Wait, what are you saying? In the future-”

“I'm saying, you came up to me in the bar, you handed me this journal and you just left,” he answers.

“But, that doesn't make any sense,” she counters.

“Well, Lucy, that's all I know.”

 _He’s such a terrible liar._ Well, it’s not _really_ a lie, he just doesn’t remember much more than that. He was beyond drunk and buried in grief at the time. He knows there has to have been more to their conversation, because he would never go steal a time machine based off a three-second encounter with a random woman in a Brazilian bar. That conversation is not vivid in his memories and it’s not something he chooses to revisit for obvious reasons.

“The rest I suppose, you'll have to wait and see what happens. We both will,” he chokes out.

It’s all he can really tell her at the moment, but he makes a mental note to try and remember more about that night. He knows this won’t be easy for him, but he’ll try for Lucy’s sake. He doesn’t want to keep anything from her, but he doesn’t want to freak her out either. It’s for this reason he’s been selective with telling her what was in her journal. Plus, things have definitely changed, so who’s to say he’d be telling her the truth. Outright lying to Lucy is anathema to him, so he just avoids certain topics to avoid the chance it could turn out to be a lie because something changed.

He can tell Lucy isn’t satisfied with his explanations, but she leaves his room without any further argument. He knows she needs to be alone and process what he just told her, so he’s pretty confident he’ll be alone for the evening. He’s fairly sure if the shoe were on the other foot and Lucy told him a future version of him came to her in the past, it would take his brain a while to grapple with that fact.

The second the cereal reaches his lips, that infernal alarm blares throughout the bunker. He knows it will take a few minutes for the team to gather themselves, so he continues his breakfast as they all filter into the command center.

Connor announces that Rittenhouse has jumped to June 1, 1863, South Carolina and Rufus makes a snide remark about revisiting the Civil War. Denise questions Lucy like she normally does, trying to ferret out Rittenhouse’s nefarious plan for this particular mission.

“I don't know. Fort Sumter was a couple of years before. The assault on Fort Wagner isn't for another month,” Lucy states honestly.

He’s not sure what’s wrong, but Lucy is clearly off her game. Judging by the pissed off Texan behind her, he’s guessing Lucy’s mood has something to do with Wyatt. One of these days…

“Wait, wait, wait. What about the Combahee River Raid?” Rufus asks.

“Oh, um, of course. It was that night,” Lucy answers.

He leans against the table, placing himself directly into Lucy and Wyatt’s line of sight and casually takes a bite of his cereal. Lucy is still reeling, so he decides to give her a little pep talk.

“Oh, come on, Lucy, defend your territory. You're the history geek.”

Wyatt gives him a dirty look. It’s all the confirmation he needs in order to know Wyatt is responsible for whatever is going on with Lucy right now.

Lucy explains how important the Combahee River Raid is for the Union and how serious a blow it would be if Rittenhouse manages to stop it.

“Atta girl, show 'em whose boss,” he states as he waves his spoon in the air with a dramatic flair.

Rufus elaborates on the importance of the raid by informing the team that the raid was led by Harriet Tubman. Denise questions whether Rittenhouse is trying to derail the Underground Railroad, but Lucy shoots that idea down since it was humming along for years before that. She does hypothesize that perhaps Tubman is the target since she was actually a Union spy during the war. 

“They called her ‘The General,’” Connor interrupts.

Rufus asks how Connor knows that and Connor explains she’s not just an American hero. Agent Christopher questions if Wyatt has anything to add to the discussion, but the soldier only responds like a petulant child. He’s never seen Wyatt speak to Denise in that manner, so he knows something big happened this morning, yet he still has no clue what that could be. He can’t worry about it now, they have a job to do. And, if Wyatt is distracted by whatever nonsense is going on, Lucy’s life could be put in jeopardy, so he needs to be extra vigilant.

When they land in South Carolina, they stumble upon a farmhouse just up the road from where they’ve stashed the Lifeboat. They take turns changing behind the barn into the clothing they’ve pilfered. Lucy changes first as they all stand guard. Wyatt changes next. Since he doesn’t want to be anywhere near this asshole, he waits until Wyatt is done before he goes behind the barn. Rufus must feel the exact same way, because he also waits until Wyatt is finished. That was his second indication that something was really wrong, since Rufus would never prefer his company to Wyatt’s.

As they round the side of the barn, he shrugs his suit jacket on and adjusts the clothing as best as he can. Rufus makes a joke about the mosquitoes killing them if Rittenhouse doesn’t, then asks him if West Nile virus is a thing yet. He answers him that it’s not, but that typhoid and dysentery killed around one-hundred-fifty-thousand soldiers.

They reach Lucy and Wyatt and watch as Wyatt storms off like a toddler throwing a fit.

“What's up with Captain Sunshine?” he questions.

Lucy just huffs and walks after Wyatt down the path. He and Rufus glance at each other, then follow Lucy. Apparently, Rufus doesn’t know what crawled up Wyatt’s ass either.

They follow the road for a little while before they stumble upon a group of dead Union soldiers. He removes his gun from his holster and walks as close to Lucy as he can. They conclude this must be the 2nd South Carolina, since they were the only Union regiment in the area. Unfortunately, they’re also the same regiment meant to carry out the raid this evening. They all sink down into despair, afraid they have failed their mission and changed history in Rittenhouse’s favor. 

Suddenly, they hear a man call out for help. Of course, Lucy is the first to answer the call, rushing towards the wounded man with reckless abandon. Wyatt is quickly by her side and he scans the perimeter for any leftover Confederate soldiers that might be lying in wait. _One of them has to take security seriously for heaven’s sake!_

The soldier begs Lucy and Wyatt to help him die easy. She tells him they’ll find a doctor and the man pleads her for mercy. A shot rings out in the air and the man slumps down dead a moment later. They all turn to find three rifles pointed in their direction. 

“What's wrong with you, not helping a soldier in need?” the woman with the rifle asks.

“You're Harriet Tubman. You're alive,” Rufus states as his eyes grow wide.

Harriet demands to know who they are, so Wyatt tells her General McClellan sent them to help her and Colonel Montgomery with the raid tonight. Harriet orders her men to lower their weapons, which they thankfully do. She then glances over at him with a curious expression on her face.

“I was just thinking you look familiar to me. I seen you before?” Harriet asks him.

He can’t exactly tell her the truth without the rest of the team thinking he’s completely lost it, but they have seen each other before. She was one of the maroons he knew from his Nassau days. He traded with her and her people. They inhabited one of the presumed deserted islands along the shipping routes in the Caribbean. She was the one in charge back then, so it doesn’t surprise him that she’s in charge now. She even had what she claimed to be visions. The information she shared with him allowed him to take a few lucrative prizes from the Spanish during the height of his piracy.

“No. We're from really, really far up north,” he answers as he points in a northerly direction.

Harriet seems to finally be buying their story, but informs them that Colonel Montgomery and his men have retreated. Lucy tells Harriet that she can’t go through with the raid, but Harriet isn’t hearing any of it. Harriet basically declares she’s going through with the raid since she has additional men recuperating at a safe house nearby.

Harriet starts back down the path and Wyatt and Rufus begin to follow. He starts walking too, then realizes Lucy isn’t next to him. He glances back to find her staring at the man Harriet just shot. His heart breaks for her. He’s fought in so many battles and wars that death is commonplace for him, but for Lucy it’s something she’s still not comfortable with. He gently grabs her forearm and swings her around. She doesn’t say anything or look at him, but she begins to walk down the path, so he walks with her. Maybe, she’ll eventually tell him what has her so upset. Until then, he will silently support and protect her.

When they arrive at the safe house, Harriet tends to some of her wounded men. Lucy and he are on the front steps, taking advantage of the sunlight they so rarely get to experience any more. He perches his left hand on his knee and leans in towards Lucy, who is sitting on one of the steps in front of him. He watches intently as Harriet Tubman continues to help the injured soldiers.

“What's she giving him?”

“She knows all sorts of herbal remedies. She was a nurse, a cook, a spy, a soldier. She had to fight for a military pension. Still didn't get it. Died in poverty.”

“If she goes on this raid, she's gonna die a lot sooner than that,” he replies.

He spots Rufus and Wyatt walking towards them and flashes his eyes to the side. It’s a silent form of communication common amongst soldiers, but to his surprise, Lucy is on the same page with him once again. Their silent communication skills have no rivals. 

Lucy stands up to meet the boys and he follows in his usual position behind her. Rufus and Wyatt are with a young boy named Samuel, who informs them where the rebels are. Wyatt tries again to argue with Harriet not to go on the raid and Harriet passionately defends her decision over and over. 

“We're with you. We are. But it's important that we find this Confederate spy or every battle that we fight from here on out will be a losing one,” Lucy pleads.

“All right. I'll help you get to your spy, but then I'm freeing those slaves. You hear me?” Harriet snaps.

“We hear you. Believe me, we are _not_ gonna lose this freaking war,” Rufus exclaims.

Harriet informs them they leave at dark, then enters the house.

As the team prepares to wait out the afternoon, Lucy approaches him as he rests on the steps staring out into space.

“Hey, um, can I ask you something?” she questions hesitantly.

“Sure. You know I’ll always be honest with you, Lucy.”

_Lies by omission don’t count._

“If-if I wanted to go and try to convince Colonel Montgomery to bring his men back, would you come with me?” Lucy asks.

_Would he come with her? Is she serious? He’d go with her to the moon and back if she asked him to._

“Of course I will. All you have to do is ask.”

He watches carefully as the worry drains from her beautiful face and the spark and fire of determination take over. _Colonel Montgomery, you better watch out! Lucy Preston is on the warpath now._

“I’m gonna go tell Wyatt the new plan. Think you can get us a ride to Port Royal?” she asks with a sly smirk.

“I’m sure I can muster up someone to take us,” he replies as he stands up.

Lucy goes into the house and he strolls over to speak to one of the soldiers about procuring some horses for their journey. It doesn’t take a lot to convince them it’s in their best interest. These soldiers know how severely outmanned and outgunned they are and will try anything if it will increase their numbers.

The soldiers saddle up the horses. He mounts one of the majestic beauties and waits for Lucy to return. After a few minutes, she exits the house with Wyatt in tow. Captain Sunshine appears to be even more irritable than he was earlier (if that’s even possible). Surely, the fact that Lucy didn’t ask him to accompany her is driving Wyatt wild. He knows he shouldn’t be so petty, but needling the man has become his new pastime.

Lucy is about to mount her horse when Wyatt tries to help her.

“I've got it, Wyatt,” she declares as she places her foot in the stirrup.

_It boils his blood that Wyatt treats Lucy as if she’s some helpless doe all the time. It just proves how little he really knows the woman, because she’s a powerhouse._

Harriet tells Lucy she appreciates her trying, but that she’s basically wasting her time. Lucy insistently informs Harriet that the Colonel will come back when she tells him what will happen if he doesn’t.

“Oh, yeah? What's that?” Harriet questions.

“That the Union will lose the war.”

Wyatt gives him the evil eye the entire time Lucy and Harriet are speaking. He ignores him like he does most of the time. Then, Wyatt just _has_ to remind him that it’s Confederate territory the entire way to Port Royal.

“I can handle a couple of farmers playing soldier.”

“Just be careful,” Wyatt admonishes.

“We'll come back with reinforcements,” Lucy proclaims.

“Don't start the party without us,” he teases.

They turn their horses around and ride off towards Port Royal. He rides closer to the edge of the woods in case some Confederate sympathizer or soldier decides to take a shot at them. This way, they’ll be less likely to hit Lucy.

It’s quite a ride to Port Royal. They know they’re in a time crunch, but after a while they need to give the horses a rest. He finds the perfect spot to stop alongside a crisp, clean stream. He dismounts his horse, ties the rein to a tree branch, then holds the reins of Lucy’s horse so that she can climb down. Of course, being the complete klutz she is, Lucy gets her foot stuck on the stirrup and tumbles forward.

He’s there in a flash, catching her in his arms with an effortless ease. She grips onto him for dear life as they gaze into each other’s eyes. A few seconds later, Lucy reminds him about her foot still being stuck in the stirrup. He snaps back to reality, then shifts her weight so that he can untangle her foot with his now-free hand.

Once her foot is free, he gently lowers her to the ground. Lucy thanks him for saving her, then follows his lead to the spot of shade under the nearest tree. He secures Lucy’s horse and makes sure there’s enough slack in the reins that it can reach the stream, so he doesn’t have to worry about while they rest. 

He refills their water supply for the rest of the ride, then takes a seat on the grass under a tree next to Lucy. They haven’t said much during the first leg of the journey, but they were riding hard, which is not exactly a conducive environment to carry on a conversation. But, they’re not riding now and he has the distinct feeling that the events of this morning are still weighing heavy on her mind.

“So, uh,” he stammers as he rubs the back of his neck, “do you want to tell me what had you so upset this morning?”

Lucy shoots him a dirty look, so he puts his hands up in surrender.

“I didn’t mean any harm by it. I just wanted to lend an ear if my only friend needs one,” he adds with a small smile. 

“I’m not your only friend.”

“Jiya isn’t here, so right now you _are_ my only friend,” he clarifies.

Lucy chuckles as she shakes her head.

“You’re incorrigible.”

“I _am_ not,” he states as he feigns indignation. 

She shakes her head again, then flashes that crooked smile of hers.

“It’s-it’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

“I am worried about it because it’s got you off your game and we need our historian at her best on this mission,” he explains honestly.

The smile fades from her face. She stays silent for a little bit longer as she ponders his statement.

“Wyatt, he-well, he…Jessica is pregnant!” Lucy blurts out.

_Ah, now it’s all starting to make sense._

“Uh, wow. Not at all what I expected you to say. Are-are you alright?”

_This asshole is like the gift that keeps on giving when it comes to hurting Lucy._

“It’s a bit shocking and a bit…”

She’s hesitant to say anything else, yet he can tell that she wants to, so he attempts to finish her thought for her.

“Too convenient?” he questions.

Lucy breathes out a heavy sigh, then nods her head.

“I-I only wanted Wyatt to understand my concern about why Rittenhouse brought Jessica back, but he doesn’t want to hear any of it. Rufus feels the same way. We just want to be cautious and he was being unreasonable and none of us understood why,” Lucy explains.

“And, that’s when he broke the news about the pregnancy I’m assuming.”

She nods her head again. 

“Am I being unreasonable?” she questions.

_Is she for real? Wyatt broke her heart, paraded his back-from-the-dead wife in front of her and then just had to share his happy news to rub salt in the wound and she’s the unreasonable one?_

“No, Lucy. Rittenhouse is devious. It’s good to be cautious when this much is at stake,” he answer honestly.

His response seems to be calming her down. If he had to guess, his validation of her feelings is just enough to get her mind off of the issue. He absolutely hates that she automatically thinks it’s all her fault, and would gladly strangle her mother and every other person who has ever hurt her to make her doubt herself like this.

Suddenly, Lucy stands, brushes off her skirt and announces that they should keep moving. The horses have rested long enough, so they climb back on and start off towards Port Royal once more. This time, however, their pace is not as fast. The next thing he knows, Lucy is riding closer to him than she was before.

“He-he brought up Amy. And, if I’m being honest, I’m not sure I wouldn’t have reacted the same as Wyatt. I’d like to think I wouldn’t, but…”

“You’re only human.”

“Yeah,” Lucy echoes.

“The rest of the team would still have the same concerns though. The difference is you would’ve listened to those concerns instead of outright dismissing them like Wyatt.”

She smiles weakly back at him and his heart does that flutter when he’s in her presence. He wants nothing more than to take all her pain and problems away and make everything better, but there’s no way that he can. He sure as hell isn’t going to let Wyatt make her feel guilty for protecting herself and her teammates though.

“Would-would you have listened if it were your family?” Lucy asks.

“I told you what I would do and I meant it. So, Rittenhouse would gain nothing by bringing them back. The team wouldn’t have had to convince me because I would’ve had those concerns on my own.”

They ride on in silence for a little longer, until Lucy breaks the solitude.

“Do you think we’ll be able to convince Colonel Montgomery to come back?” Lucy questions.

“I sure hope so, or we might come back to a brave new world that none of us will recognize.”

It’s night by the time they reach Colonel Montgomery. At first, the soldiers basically tell them to beat it, but Lucy isn’t taking no for an answer. Honestly, he thinks they just got tired of trying to argue with her. They lead them to the Colonel’s tent, which he actually has to duck his head slightly to fit into. The fact that he has to crouch might be useful though. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s used his height to intimidate someone. They’re on a time crunch right now and any advantage they have, they better damn well use.

The Colonel goes into a tirade about coming to him without official orders or identification. Then, the man goes a step further and makes a snide comment about his accent. The Colonel argues he doesn’t want to send his regiment back to where they narrowly escaped death from the Confederate ambush.

His eyes meet Lucy’s and they both instantly know this is going to take longer than they have.

“Well, you don't have to be so glass half-empty,” he states in an attempt to buy some time to think up another angle to pitch.

“Who the hell are you people?” the Colonel demands.

“We are Union spies,” he answers.

“With no papers?”

“Because we are spies.”

_What part of covert spy does this man not understand? With men like this in charge, it’s honestly a wonder how the hell they won the war in the first place._

Lucy implores the Colonel to change his mind and go back and help Harriet and her men. The Colonel advises he’s under orders to leave for Port Hudson first thing. Lucy continues on with her impassioned plea, pointing out how many slaves there are working on the river plantation and how the Colonel will need those men at Fort Wagner, Vicksburg, and Petersburg.

“Who are you, Miss, to speak to me this way?”

 _Oh boy._ He previously intervened with the cop in 1919, but this time, he’s just going to let this ass feel the wrath of Lucy Preston, especially given that wisecrack about his accent earlier.

“I'm someone who knows what the hell she's talking about!” Lucy declares emphatically.

Colonel Montgomery looks at him like “you’re going to allow this woman to act like this; to speak to me this way?” He glares back at him with a look of his own; be my guest and try and stop her. He certainly won’t.

“Lucy darling, what do you think your friend the President would say if we have to report back to him that one of his Colonels was too scared to engage the enemy?” he asks.

Lucy whirls on him, her eyes wide and wild. He silently beseeches her to catch onto what he’s trying to accomplish here. It takes her only a second, but she gives him a wicked smile, then turns back to face the Colonel once more.

“I think he would probably demote such a coward from Colonel to latrine scrubber in a heartbeat!” Lucy exclaims.

“You-you know-no, you couldn’t possibly…”

“I _do_ know the President and I will _not_ hesitate to inform him of your cowardice and reckless disregard for your fellow soldiers,” Lucy states authoritatively.

“His son has a thing for my wife. I’d reconsider your position on joining the raid if I were you,” he warns.

Once again, the word wife just slips out of his mouth, yet this time Lucy doesn’t seem to mind that he’s referring to her as such. He knows this little fact shouldn’t excite him, but it does send his heart aflutter.

The Colonel glances over at him pleading for help, but he stands his ground. This is too important not to pursue. Lucy is even more stubborn than he is, so she’s not caving any time soon. Finally, the Colonel orders his men to muster and agrees to accompany them back to the plantation to join Tubman and her forces. 

It doesn’t take them long to assemble. They ride like the wind in order to cover as much ground as they possibly can. Naturally, he rides next to Lucy, not only to protect her, but to make sure she can keep up with the pace of the Colonel and his men. Needless to say, there are no heart-to-hearts or lengthy conversations on the ride back. 

Out of necessity, they stop at the same brook they did on the ride to Port Royal to water the horses and take a brief respite. He chats for a little bit with Lucy then, but it’s mostly both of them worrying that they will be too late.

After riding hard for hours, they arrive at the plantation with Colonel Montgomery and his men. They happen upon Harriet Tubman, her men and the freed slaves, as chaos surrounds the entire area. They combine their forces and push through the woods towards the plantation’s main house.

Suddenly, a Confederate officer runs into the woods and Harriet shoots him dead. Rufus and Wyatt appear a moment later and almost get themselves shot in the process. From the look of things, they were definitely chasing the dead man, which hopefully means they got their sleeper.

After they chase off or kill the remaining Confederates, Wyatt and Rufus confirm that the man Harriet shot was indeed the sleeper agent. _They made it just in time._ A wave of relief floods over him knowing they can go home now. 

The trek back to the Lifeboat is not going to be a short one, so they decide to get a move on it and get out of there as fast as they can.

Eventually, they make it back to the ship, dirty and physically and mentally spent. After the length of time on horseback and all the walking he did, he just wants to curl up in that too-small cot of his and get some shut-eye. 

When they arrive back in the present, his curiosity as to what history recorded or how it changed gets the better of him. He’s obviously not the only one, because he finds Rufus and Wyatt trying to figure it out as well, so he decides to join them. 

Rufus informs them that the Combahee River Raid is now the Willow Glen Plantation Raid. Wyatt appears to be bored by this fact, then mutters something about checking on Jessica before backing away from the group.

“Oh, uh, congratulations, by the way. Lucy gave me the news. You're gonna be a great father,” he states in an effort to try and be more civil to this idiot. 

He says it to be polite, not because he _actually_ believes it. Wyatt simply nods his heads and walks down the hallway. Rufus turns back to him, then gets up and walks in the opposite direction, book still open to where he was reading. He stands there awkwardly by himself, wondering where the conversation went wrong. _He didn’t come off as insincere, did he?_

He rummages through the dozen or so books on the table for a little while. They’re mostly history books, so he figures it might come in handy on a future mission. Plus, it’s not like he has anything else to do right now. 

A few hours later, he’s back in his room getting ready to call it a night when there’s a knock at his door. He tells them to come on in and Lucy pokes her head through a moment later.

“Hey, uh, want some comp-oh, you’re about to go to sleep. I-I can go,” Lucy stammers.

“No, no. I was going to try and sleep more out of boredom than tiredness. Have a seat.”

He’ll never turn her away. It’s just not in his DNA.

Lucy takes a seat in the chair this time, so he sits down on the edge of his cot.

“So…well then, what do you want to talk about, Lucy?”

She brings her finger to her lip and hums slightly as she thinks, which is beyond distracting for him. Her lips beckon and call to him like the haunting melody of a siren at sea. If she keeps drawing his attention to them, he’s not sure how long he’ll be able to maintain his cool.

“How do you feel about John Denver? Personally, I think he’s amazing, but Noah couldn’t stand him and reminded me of that fact a lot during our-our _strange_ engagement,” Lucy blurts out.

She’s babbling right now and if he didn’t know any better, he’d say she’s slightly nervous. He’s not sure why she is, but he wants her to be at ease when she’s with him. 

“Amy hated him too, but she never made fun of me for it.”

“I-I don’t _mind_ John Denver. His music is good, but I-I like to think of myself as more of a Johnny Cash fan,” he answers honestly.

Lucy chuckles as she reaches behind her and pulls out the bottle of vodka she left there the other night.

“The Man in Black? Why does that not surprise me at all,” she laughs as she pours them each a glass.

“Hey now, I don’t _always_ wear black.”

“Oh yes, I forgot. Your wardrobe also includes gray and drab green,” she states as she laughs even harder this time.

He loves hearing her laugh and seeing her beautiful smile, even if she’s laughing at his expense.

“You’re right. My attire could use a little sprucing up. You think Agent Christopher would buy me a floral bathrobe to match yours?” he asks with a twinkle in his eye and a smirk on his face.

Lucy bursts into a fit of hysterical giggles, almost falling out of the chair as she does. Once she finally stops, she picks up a box of tissues on his desk and throws it at him.

“I did _not_ need that visual in my head, thank you!” she yells as she breaks into laughter again.

“What? I look fetching in floral,” he jokes as he throws his pillow back at her.

Lucy falls off the chair at this point, holding her sides as tears stream down her face. Then, she suddenly sits upright and clasps her hands over her mouth.

“What? What’s wrong?” he asks with concern.

“Now I know what to get you for Christmas!” she squeals and throws the pillow back at him.

“Ha, ha. Very funny. I know what I’m getting you too, since you’ve become so fond of absconding with my drab, gray sweaters,” he states as he indicates to the oversized sweater she’s currently wearing.

Her cheeks flush pink with embarrassment as she folds her arms around her body. She’s been busted and she knows it. He doesn’t care one bit that she took the sweater, he just likes to tease her. She could take any item of clothing he has.

“It’s the green that’s drab, not the gray,” she corrects him.

The conversation somehow winds up becoming a debate over whether Tolstoy or Dostoevsky is the greatest Russian writer of all time, with Lucy arguing the former and he the latter. They agree on many other topics, but this is clearly not one of them.

They flit from topic to topic, until he glances over at one point and finds Lucy asleep in the chair. He knows from first-hand experience how awful it is to sleep in that thing and he doesn’t want Lucy’s neck or back to hurt tomorrow. He doesn’t really want to wake this sleeping angel, but it’s for her own good, so he gently brushes his fingers along her cheek. He only needs to rouse her enough to move her over to his bed, but Lucy seems determined not to cooperate at the moment. He tries again, but she only turns her head away with a grunt. 

Having no other viable option at this point, he scoops her up into his arms and places her gently into his bed. He tucks her in, pulling the blanket up to her neck just like she likes it. He bends down and presses his lips to her forehead as he mumbles, “oneira glyká.” He didn’t mean to tell her sweet dreams in Greek, it just slipped out of his mouth for some reason. Greece was so long ago that most of those memories are buried in the recesses of his mind. Perhaps it was their philosophy discussion earlier in the evening that brought it on. Nevertheless, he needs to be more mindful about which languages he speaks around her. He knows she’s seen his file and knows what languages were listed in there. Greek was not one of them. His file only contains the languages he learned in _this_ lifetime. He doesn’t want her to think that he’s been lying to her. There’s no way he could explain the truth. She’s not ready for it anyway. Perhaps one day she will be, but not now.

He takes one last look at her slumbering form before turning around. _Looks like he’s spending another night in that god-awful chair again._


	25. Chinatown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The team sets out to find and rescue Jiya.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I took so long between chapters. For whatever reason, I just felt this chapter wasn't good enough at first. I think I was putting added pressure on myself to make it great since it's such an integral part of the Garcy story. Although I don't think I achieved the level I wanted to, it's as good as it's going to get, so I'm posting it now. Otherwise, this story would never get finished and I don't want to leave you all hanging. Hope you still enjoy it.

He’s barely even awake when he hears the telltale whir of the Lifeboat. Lucy shoots up in bed a second later, having also heard what he has apparently. She grabs her floral robe and throws it over her pajamas. 

They both sprint out into hallway and find the rest of the team running towards the ship bay as well. When they arrive, they find Wyatt on the ground and the Lifeboat gone. Connor asks where the ship is, Rufus asks where Jiya is and Denise just wants the facts as usual. Lucy, to his chagrin, runs right to Wyatt, calling his name out with more than just concern in her voice.

Wyatt doesn’t move, but he does explain that Jessica got his gun, kidnapped Jiya and stole the Lifeboat.

“She _what_?” Rufus exclaims.

“Wait, wait, wait, hold on,” Lucy states as she attempts to grapple with the information Wyatt just provided to the team.

“So-so, Jessica is Rittenhouse?” Denise questions.

“Rittenhouse has the Lifeboat?” he asks as he looks to Agent Christopher for confirmation.

It’s not as if he doesn’t have concern for Jiya, but Rittenhouse having possession of the Lifeboat is _literally_ the worst news they could receive. Apparently, he seems to be the only one that cares about that at the moment.

“What did she do with Jiya?” Rufus asks with a panic.

Chaos is the order of the hour, as questions fly through the air from all directions. Rufus runs to the console and tries to track the ship, typing frantically. After a few more attempts, Rufus slams his hand down on the console in anger. He can’t blame him one bit. To have the woman you love stolen from you and placed in mortal danger is something he’s unfortunately _very_ familiar with. _And here he thought no one could ever be worse than the fucking Romans. Rittenhouse_ _puts them to shame._

Connor attempts to calm Rufus down, confidently proclaiming that they will find Jiya, but Rufus isn’t hearing him right now. In fact, he’s never seen Rufus like this in the time he’s known him, in this lifetime or any other.

“We asked you,” Rufus declares as he stalks down from the console and over to Wyatt. “I asked you to tell us if she said or did anything to make you think she was Rittenhouse!”

Naturally, Lucy defends Wyatt, advising he didn’t suspect anything. _Always the peacemaker_. He’s reeling that the team could’ve been this gullible; that none of them, including himself, saw the signs of the wolf hiding beneath sheep’s clothing. He even discussed this with Lucy. And, even though they both agreed they would need to be careful, neither of them picked up on anything untoward.

Shockingly, Wyatt confesses that he _did_ suspect his wife was the enemy, but never bothered to convey his feelings to the rest of the team. Lucy spins her head around to gawk at Wyatt, and he glares back at this selfish asshole as the rage builds within him. They’re now fucked beyond belief and poor Jiya has been taken prisoner, all because Wyatt wanted to have his cake and eat it too.

Wyatt explains that Jessica’s brother died of leukemia in their original timeline, but in this one he was saved by stem cell therapy, which was obviously not around in the 1980’s.

“So, what? You just lied?” he asks in disbelief.

Wyatt ignores him, but does answer Lucy when she asks for the reason he didn’t tell the team. The man poorly attempts to explain his reasoning, which the entire team finds severely lacking in so many ways it’s actually indescribable. Wyatt apologizes, but Rufus reminds him it’s a little too late for sorry.

“Geez, we-we had those Rittenhouse photos and we did jack squat and now Jiya's gone!” Rufus complains as he storms back to the console.

“There's _photos_?” he asks angrily. “No one told me about that.”

Wyatt is quick to snap back, advising him it was because no one trusted that he wouldn’t kill Jessica.

“Well, in hindsight, would that have been so bad?”

“Watch your mouth,” Wyatt warns.

_Watch his mouth? Oh, this little weasel…_

“Okay, we're just trying to figure out what happened, Wyatt,” Lucy interrupts.

“Let me just sum this up. Jessica was screwing you, she lied about being pregnant, and then she wrapped you around her finger just long enough so she could screw us too!” he seethes.

Suddenly, Wyatt grabs ahold of him and begins pushing him towards the wall. He punches Wyatt and they grip each other’s necks as they continue to tussle. Wyatt catches him off guard for a second and takes full advantage, pinning him against the wall. He can hear the rest of the team yelling to stop, but he’s not going to leave himself defenseless. Wyatt’s the one who needs to stand down.

The next thing he knows, Lucy is trying to pull Wyatt off of him, and receives a punch in the face for her efforts. Wyatt stops attacking him immediately, then reaches out for her with regret. Lucy recoils in disgust, which triggers memories he would rather forget; memories of Rome; memories of Lucy being beaten and drug through the villa by the exact same man standing before him.

She stomps down the corridor towards her room, as he and the rest of the team glare at Wyatt. The shame appears to finally have hit the asshole, but after what just occurred, he doesn’t have any sympathy whatsoever. Wyatt hit Lucy and that is unforgiveable. He may have gotten a little rough with her at times trying to get her out of his way, but he never hit her and he never would. Disgusted, he gets up, dusts himself off and heads back to his room.

Once cooler heads prevail, at least as much as they can with this group, they gather around the nerve center waiting for an update on Jiya and the Lifeboat. Out of habit, he leans on the edge of the kitchen table, well behind everyone else. He knows it’s the instinctual soldier in him, keeping everyone where he can see them, but it also speaks to how little he trusts these people.

Connor informs the team they think Jiya escaped from Rittenhouse and was trying to get home, but didn’t make it. This news devastates him in a way he wasn’t expecting. Jiya had been the one member of the team besides Lucy to treat him like a normal person. She was so young, so full of promise. This shouldn’t have happened.

Then, Connor clarifies that she’s not dead, but alive in the past. He blows out the breath he didn’t know he was holding. He’s still afraid for Jiya, but is hopeful that the number of geniuses this bunker contains will find some way to locate her. Connor goes on to suggest that the team might be able to find a clue that could help find Jiya. He goes on to instruct them to think back to conversations they’ve had with her, or books they may have seen her reading, or games she was playing.

Lucy literally sprints out of her chair like an Olympic runner who just heard the start gun. She takes off down the hall a second later. Unfortunately, he’s not going to be much help in this department. He’s only had a handful of conversations with Jiya that didn’t involve a mission, and two of those were about trying to get Rufus shot, so he’s pretty much out of his league here. Still, he’s willing to look through whatever to help, though.

After sitting there for a few seconds, he gets up and goes to Lucy and Jiya’s room, hoping that something will catch his eye and provide a clue. Lucy is rummaging through books at a daunting pace. She doesn’t even notice him poking his head into the room she’s so engrossed. He decides he’ll only get in her way, so he retreats back to his own room. He feels useless and it’s not a feeling he’s accustomed to one bit. _If only there was someone he could just kill or torture to obtain the information._

Of course, Lucy’s brilliance once again pays off. Against all odds, she’s able to find Jiya and the location of the Lifeboat. It’s strange to see Jiya in an old-time photo wearing the clothes of the period. He’s so used to her running around here in her modern duds that he had to look twice when Lucy showed him the picture. 

The rest of the team remains in the bunker, while Rufus and Connor set out to find the ship and ascertain the extent of the damage.

Lucy paces his room like a caged animal, raring to go on this rescue mission as soon as possible. 

“You’re going to wear out the tile if you keep that up,” he states not even peering up from the book in his hands.

“Sorry,” Lucy mutters. “I just…”

“Feel useless. I know. Why don’t you take a nap? We don’t know if the ship is even gonna be able to jump yet. You should try to rest while you have the chance. I’ll wake you if I hear anything.”

“I’m too amped up to sleep.”

“Then, go jog around the bunker. You need to work off some of that energy.”

He can imagine a thousand ways she could work off that energy with him, but now’s not the time for his mind to be in the gutter.

“We need you to be calm if we’re gonna rescue Jiya. Rufus is certainly in no shape and Wyatt and I-well, we shoot first and ask questions later. One of us has to have a level head on this team,” he advises.

She nods her head in agreement, thanks him, then slips out the door.

Rufus and Connor manage to find the Lifeboat and perform the necessary repairs just in time for the Mothership to jump to August 26, 1888, San Francisco. Unlike their previous excursions, they all know the reason they’re there this time.

He follows the group out into the woods in the dead of night, preparing to rescue his second favorite member of the team. Then, he views the condition of the Lifeboat and thinks twice about accompanying them on this venture. Connor and Rufus swear they’ve made the necessary repairs, but this hunk of metal has been rusting in the woods for over a hundred years. Plus, Rufus would say just about anything to rescue the woman he loves (at least he thinks he would). He certainly would if it were Lucy stuck in the past.

Rufus beckons the team to climb aboard, then informs him he’s coming with them. Wyatt, of course, points out that they need to save an open seat for Jiya, but Rufus calmly responds that Jiya can come back for him. 

“I want as much muscle as possible on this trip,” Rufus declares emphatically.

“So, what's our confidence level that this one-hundred-thirty-year-old vine-covered machine isn't gonna just make us explode into gory chunks?” he questions as he turns back around to Connor.

“Just get in the machine,” Wyatt commands.

“Really? Whose fault is all of this?” he snipes back at Wyatt.

“Save the fighting for the _actual_ bad guys. Come on,” Lucy prods before climbing inside. 

He’s not happy about this, but if they do explode into gory chunks, at least he’ll die with Lucy. He climbs into the machine, buckles himself in and waits to jump.

Thankfully, the Lifeboat doesn’t explode and they land in San Francisco without incident. They find suitable clothing easily, then move as fast as they can to Chinatown. Once they arrive, they begin searching for the photography studio that took Jiya’s picture. It’s their only lead at this point, but they might as well be looking for a needle in a haystack. 

They’ve been searching for over an hour and still haven’t found the studio. Rufus is beginning to give up hope, and Wyatt tries to brighten his spirits.

“Maybe it's just not in Chinatown,” Wyatt states.

“It's here. The backdrop of the photo. The décor. Clearly Chinese,” Lucy advises.

“Which could be anywhere,” he reminds Lucy.

Lucy contradicts him and then explains that the Chinese weren't allowed to live anywhere else in 1888.

“There were forty-five-thousand people crammed into twelve square blocks.”

She goes on to add that the Chinese didn’t even exist as far as white people were concerned, and that they only came here to drink, gamble, and whore.

Suddenly, Rufus calls out to the team as he spots the studio. They all pile inside and a young Chinese girl named Fei greets them. Lucy and Rufus take the lead trying to pry information regarding Jiya’s whereabouts while he and Wyatt hang back some, keeping their eyes on the street for Emma or Rittengoons. 

He vaguely catches something about Jiya being here for three years already before he hears a woman shout Lucy’s name from the back. A gunshot rings out a moment later. He scans the room, ensuring no one on the team has been injured, then takes up a defensive position at the door with Wyatt by his side. Two more shots fracture the silence and then another. The strange thing is, none of the subsequent shots have been aimed in their direction.

With guns drawn, he and Wyatt enter the back room simultaneously. They find Fei’s bloodied father, a dead Nicholas Keynes, a wounded Carol Preston, and Emma and Jessica escaping out the back door. They chase after the women, momentarily losing them in the throng of people crowding the street. He spots Jessica up ahead and is about to take off after her, when Wyatt stops him. 

“Flynn! You're not going anywhere near Jessica. I'll get her.”

He gives into Wyatt’s demand only because they don’t have time to argue right now. Wyatt goes after Jessica and he turns to try and find Emma through the crowd of people on the street, assuming that the two of them have split up.

He veers through the crowd, searching every alley and street he comes across for the evil redhead. After searching what feels like the entirety of Chinatown for their nemesis, he decides to head back to the photography studio to check on Lucy.

When he opens the door and strides on in, he finds Lucy staring into space. The heartbreak evident on her face is tearing him in two. He wants to make everything better, but he can’t this time.

She turns her head when she spots him and shakily asks where Wyatt is. _Wyatt. Of course._ He peeks out the curtain to make sure he wasn’t tailed, but it’s not the only reason. He needs a moment to hide his disgust and disappointment that Lucy’s main concern right now is the asshole. Once he gains his composure, he informs Lucy that he and Wyatt split up.

“Relax, I couldn't kill Wyatt even if I wanted to. And, I want to,” he advises honestly.

He’s wanted to kill him for a long, _long_ time, but he doesn’t out of deference to Lucy. For whatever reason, she loves the asshole. Plus, she’d never forgive him for it and having Lucy hate him is more than he can bear. It’s much worse than just loving her from afar.

He takes a step towards her and discovers a body lying on the floor with a blanket covering it a few feet behind her.

“Your mom?” he asks, knowing full well what the answer is already.

“She's dead,” Lucy answers numbly.

His heart is breaking for her. Even though Carol was Rittenhouse, she was still Lucy’s mother. He can tell that Lucy is in shock, which is another feeling he knows well. When you see someone you love die right in front of you…

He moves even closer to her, treading delicately not to crowd her space too much.

“I'm sorry, Lucy.”

He’s not sorry there’s one less member of that vile organization, but he is sorry Lucy had to witness her mother’s death first-hand. 

She’s still staring off into no man’s land with a glazed look in her eye for a few more beats, before she begins speaking about her mother.

“You know what her one great regret was? That she didn't indoctrinate me earlier into her evil cult. You were right. I should've seen her for who she was sooner. My whole life, I was blind.”

All he wants is to scoop her up into his arms and take away her pain. In fact, it’s actually physically paining him right now to watch her suffer. Lucy _was_ blind when it came to her mother, but reinforcing that or even confirming it serves no purpose other than to hurt her more. But, this mess they’re in isn’t her fault whatsoever.

“Well, you want someone to blame, you should blame Wyatt. He's the idiot who brought a Rittenhouse spy into the bunker.”

Lucy finally meets his eyes, questioning what he would have done if Rittenhouse had brought back his wife and daughter. _Would he have looked for the hidden catch or would he have been so grateful that they were back that he would’ve been just as blind?_

He knows they’ve talked about this on numerous occasions, yet for whatever reason, she continues to ask despite his consistent answers. She doesn’t give him a chance to answer her once again, because she’s not interested in what his answer is. She’s only interested in defending Wyatt apparently.

“You can blame Wyatt if you want,” Lucy advises.

“I don't give a damn about Wyatt!” he declares as he crouches down so that he’s eye level with her. “That's not why I'm here.”

The words slip out of his mouth before he realizes what he’s saying. He should have just left off with dismissing Wyatt. Instead, he’s gone and opened up Pandora’s Box. Lucy’s curiosity will without a doubt get the better of her and she will continue to probe this line of questioning. She searches his face for a minute, then asks him why he _is_ here.

He’s always been honest with her, (at least as much as he could be without sounding completely insane), so he doesn’t want to start lying to her now, but this isn’t exactly the time or place for a declaration of love. The answer is an easy one for him. He’s here for _her_. He knows they won’t be more than friends in this lifetime, but he’s still here for her. He’ll be here for her for the rest of eternity.

He has to say something, as Lucy is anxiously awaiting his response, but he’s hesitant to do it for obvious reasons. But, perhaps if he does admit that he’s here for her, it will be a crutch for her to lean on. Maybe if she knows he can be her support system, she won’t feel as alone as she does in the world. He opens his mouth, but pauses in slight hesitation. 

Unfortunately, Wyatt comes barging through the door a second later, ruining the moment like he always does. He tenses and tugs at his suddenly too tight shirt collar, silently pleading with whatever deity that will listen that Lucy doesn’t repeat the question now that Wyatt is here. 

Wyatt glances over and eyes them suspiciously before enquiring about Rufus. Lucy informs him that they’ve found Jiya. Despite this fact, she’s not moving from her seat, so he stands up straight and gets the ball rolling. Lucy follows suit, as she pushes the fog from her brain and focuses on the task at hand. He knows she has because she’s got her game face back on.

Lucy exits the photography studio and he and Wyatt tag along after her. They follow her as she asks for directions to the saloon. They finally find it after taking two wrong turns, then make their way inside. 

Lucy spots Jiya and Rufus duck into one of the back hallways, so they head there for their family reunion. He watches from the end of the hallway as Jiya reunites with Lucy and Wyatt, hugging each of them fiercely. 

“Flynn,” Jiya acknowledges with a nod.

“What? No hug? I'm practically family now,” he teases.

“Yeah, the creepy uncle,” Rufus mutters.

 _He’s going to ignore that for the moment, even though he wants to say something snide right back._ Wyatt suggests that they should get a move on since Emma could be close. For once, he agrees with the idiot. They can gush over each other and review what’s happened when they’re back in the bunker. 

Rufus explains that Jiya’s refusing to leave because she thinks he’ll die if she does. Lucy tries to convince them that’s precisely why they should leave, but Jiya clarifies that that's how it happens. Jiya and Rufus continue to bicker over the risk that Rufus is taking, which would be adorable if they weren’t in danger the longer they linger here. 

Lucy finally puts a stop to it, proclaiming that none of them are dying and they are getting out of here. Jiya responds that Lucy doesn’t understand, but Jiya’s the one who doesn’t understand. Lucy has that look in her eye, that firebrand of determination she gets when she’s fighting for something she’s passionate about. He’s seen it before. He knows to just give in and succumb to the inevitable because Lucy _will_ get her way. 

“I do understand. None of us have anything anymore except each other. That's how we've survived this long. No matter how bad it gets, we're together. We take out Rittenhouse together. We are going home together! Are we clear?” Lucy questions commandingly.

“She's right,” Wyatt responds.

“Count me in,” he adds.

“That was like, better than the speech in _Rudy_ ,” Rufus mumbles.

“I'm not leaving. Just go, okay? Before it's too late,” Jiya informs them.

Unfortunately, it’s already too late as Emma, Jessica and her goons start shooting up the place. He draws his gun, along with Wyatt, and they take a position near the doorway at the end of the hall.

Emma mockingly calls out Lucy’s name, baiting her to come out of hiding and face her, which only serves to enrage the bull inside him even more. He’d strangle Emma with his bare hands if he had to. He knows she’s behind the kill order on Lucy. He’s never understood the animosity the redhead has for the love of his life, but he knows it exists, and that fact alone is enough to send him over the edge.

Wyatt asks Jiya if there’s another way out of the saloon that they can use. Jiya points to the rear exit, but wanders a little too close to the doorway, so he grabs her arm and pulls her back to safety.

“All right, look, it's you and me. We cover everyone, then make a run for it,” Wyatt advises.

He nods in agreement. He may hate Wyatt’s guts, but he does trust him enough to fight in the trenches besides him. Wyatt suggests that Lucy go straight to the Lifeboat with Jiya and Rufus and then come back for the two of them. 

He puts his hand on Wyatt’s shoulder and then they move as a unit out into the saloon with their guns raised. They unload a barrage of gunfire back at Emma and her goons, then take up defensive positions once more. 

After a couple seconds, they get up in unison again and continue shooting at the enemy. As they move into the main portion of the saloon, they flip over a poker table and use it as cover as the gun battle ensues.

He reloads his clip and Wyatt yells for the team to make a run for it. Emma runs for the front door of the saloon as Jessica covers her exit. He shoots at Jessica and hits his mark, knocking the gun from her hand.

“Don’t hit Jessica!” Wyatt shrieks.

“Seriously?”

“Please. She's carrying my kid.”

He glances over at Wyatt with his best “you’ve got to be kidding me” face. Five minutes ago, Wyatt was all about Lucy, and now it’s back to Jessica again. He’s dizzy trying to keep up.

Jessica manages to escape up the saloon stairs, effectively ending the shootout. He and Wyatt back up into the hallway again towards the rear exit, only to find that the team hasn’t left yet. Jiya and Rufus are kissing tearfully, but Wyatt reminds them they need to get going.

The team begins to file out the back door, as he guards the rear of their escape. As soon as the entire team is on the back porch of the saloon, a hail of gunfire erupts. A split second later, he feels the force of the bullet hit his body and jerk him backwards. He falls to the ground and instinctually grabs his arm. He perfunctorily inspects the wound and confirms he’s been hit directly under his right collarbone. Blood pools and stains his shirt as the stabbing pain ravages through him.

When he gets his bearings again, he realizes that the shooting has stopped and that Rufus has also been hit. It doesn’t look good. Jiya cradles Rufus in her arms, frantically trying to keep him calm. Wyatt rushes over and presses hard on Rufus’ wound, pleading with the man to stay with him. Everything is happening in the blink of an eye. He feels bad for Rufus, but he’s also thankful that Lucy is unharmed. His injury doesn’t matter, but her safety is paramount. 

Then, out of the blue, Lucy picks up Wyatt’s gun off the ground and sprints after Emma. Wyatt screams after her, but Jiya is screaming for him to help Rufus. 

“Can you move with that thing?” Wyatt asks him.

“I sure as hell can try,” he answers before hurrying to follow Lucy. 

She has a head start, but his height allows him to scan over most of the crowd. It’s also helpful that Lucy has a black and white striped dress on, making her much easier to spot. He can’t find Lucy or Emma within his field of vision, so he moves further into the crowd. He searches for clues amongst the people as to their potential route. He spots a bunch of men staring strangely down one of the alleys, so he sprints in that direction.

The pain in his arm is getting worse as he weaves through alleys and streets searching in vain. Finally, he starts yelling Lucy’s name out loud, hoping she’ll hear him and answer. He has to find her. He just has to.

He turns the corner into another alley and spots Emma on top of Lucy pummeling the hell out of her. Emma, to her credit, sees him coming and takes off in the opposite direction. He squeezes off two shots in her vicinity, but misses. Before, he would’ve made sure he didn’t miss those shots, but his mind fractures at the site of Lucy lying helplessly on the ground. She’s coughing and gasping for air, which causes him to have a flashback to the Caithness battlefield. _She will not die in his arms again. He will not allow it._

He hurries to her side, placing his gun on the ground as he gets down on his knees. He calls out to Lucy, but she doesn’t respond. 

Then, she suddenly bolts upright and grabs his gun off the ground. She falls forward and blindly unloads the clip in Emma’s direction, until he pries the weapon from her hands.

A year ago, he would have left Lucy lying on the ground bleeding while he pursued Emma. She’s Rittenhouse’s only pilot after all. Eradicating Rittenhouse was all he cared about before. He could’ve ended this war, or at least caused the enemy a substantial blow to their objective. But that was then and this is now. The rage that filled him initially has slowly been chipped away by Lucy’s charms. Despite promising himself he’d let her go in this lifetime, he can’t seem to convince himself to do just that. 

The site of Lucy bloody and broken on the ground of this alley is destroying him. Whether she wants his comfort or not, he’s giving it to her. He gingerly picks her head up from the ground, grunting from the pain in his arm, yet shaking it off a second later. This isn’t the first time he’s been shot and it probably won’t be the last. He just has to suck it up. Lucy’s more important. He cradles her face with his hands and she grips onto his forearm as tears stream down her blood-stained cheeks. 

“She's gone. She's gone,” he whispers.

“Flynn. I can't. I can't,” Lucy cries as she crumbles into his arms.

He cannot take away her pain as much as he wants to do just that. What he can do, however, is comfort, hold and be there for her in general. She needs to feel safe and loved. Despite his promises to himself, he can provide her with both of those things. 

She continues to sob as he rocks her gently. Her body goes limp, so he pulls her closer, then rests their foreheads together as he cradles her. _I’m here; just like I’ve always been and always will be. I’ve got you, Lucy._

They stay like that until Lucy has cried herself out. He’s not sure how long it’s been since Emma ran off, but it honestly feels like half a lifetime. His arm is killing him right now. He can feel the warm slick of blood oozing down his chest and arm. As he adjusts Lucy so that his left arm is supporting more of her weight, she notices his injury.

“You’re bleeding!” she states frantically.

She jerks away from him, terror spreading across her face. The last thing he wants is for her to worry about him, but he knows she will. He’s been her confidante, her shoulder to cry on, her _rock_ for a while now. If she thinks she’s going to lose him like she lost Rufus…

She hurries to her feet, unsteady yet determined. He groans as he pushes off the ground, grabbing his arm as he rights himself. 

“I’ll be fine, Lucy. No need to worry.”

She raises her hands towards his wound, but stops short of touching it. They stand there for another few beats staring at each other. They’ve been through hell and have the scars to prove it.

“We should get back to the others,” he suggests in a half-whisper.

She nods in agreement, then tucks herself under his good arm. They assist each other out of the alley, stumbling their way through the streets back to the saloon, earning more than their fair share of pejorative glances along the way. Wyatt and Jiya intercept them before they reach their destination and direct them back to the Lifeboat. 

When they land in the bunker, Jiya and Lucy are the first ones to exit. It takes him longer to extricate himself from the ship with one arm, but he manages. Thankfully, their makeshift medical kit in the Lifeboat contained a sling, which came in handy to help keep his arm straight once he got the bleeding to stop. Otherwise, the jump home would have been excruciating. 

Connor then notices that they are short a team member and the team’s collective faces tell it all. Jiya is still numb, yet angrily argues with Connor about going back to save Rufus. 

“You know what, Connor? You wanna go back and get yourself killed like Rufus did? Go ahead! I don't care anymore! I told you he'd die if I came home! Why didn't you listen?” Jiya cries before storming off towards her room.

As much as he’d like to stick around and mourn with the rest of the team, he does have the little problem of a bullet to deal with. He leaves the landing bay and heads to his room. He grabs a change of clothes, then makes his way to their make-shift medical bay. 

He removes his blood-stained, white dress shirt, sterilizes the wound, and starts to remove the bullet. After he finally gets it out, he stitches up the wound and bandages it. He pulls on his burgundy turtleneck, then reapplies the sling for support. It’s not going to heal overnight, but he’s had worse. 

When he returns to the main corridor, he spots Lucy sitting on the floor holding an ice pack on her face. Wyatt is sitting right next to her, their conversation a whisper on the wind. He can’t make out their words, but their body language tells him that it’s more than just a superficial chat. Lucy is clearly physically, mentally and emotionally hurting, yet Wyatt doesn’t seem to even notice as he rambles on and on. Lucy listens for most of the conversation, blankly staring at the soldier as he yammers on. Then, in a moment’s notice, her expression shifts into a look of utter shock.

He truly cannot fathom the selfishness of his rival. Lucy has just been beaten to a pulp and watched her mother and friend die, and this ass has to get his crap off _his_ chest?

It hurts to see her run back to Wyatt, even if it’s just a baby step towards a reconciliation. If the asshole makes her happy, that’s really all that matters to him. Wyatt doesn’t deserve her one bit, but neither does he. He has no right to be upset, yet he can’t help but feel disappointed that she didn’t come to talk to him instead.

All of a sudden, the telltale whir of a time machine arriving catches his attention. He turns and glances over at the landing bay and another Lifeboat appears from out of nowhere. He slowly moves towards the ship, quickly scanning for overt differences between the two vehicles. The entire team joins him a moment later, all gawking in awe and wonder.

“Is this another Lifeboat?” he asks no to one in particular.

“But it looks upgraded,” Jiya adds.

Agent Christopher questions Connor about what’s going on, but Connor has no idea.

The ship’s hatch opens a second later, and a grimy, bearded Wyatt Logan emerges. A second figure steps out after the lumberjack and he blinks hard in disbelief. Lucy, dressed like Lara Croft only with shorter hair, stands before him with a steely gaze. This isn’t the same woman he met in São Paulo, or is it? She could have let her hair grow out before she met him, but she seems colder to him than she was that day at the bar. Nevertheless, she’s clearly from the future judging by the upgrades to the Lifeboat. In his mind, it’s just more proof positive that things have changed. The Lucy that gave him the journal wrote down things that never came to pass or were outright wrong, which became clear as he stood in the burning wreckage of the Hindenburg. His actions have caused changes, so is _this_ Lucy now the future of present Lucy? Will she become the hardened warrior standing before him? And, if they are from the future, where is the future version of himself?

“Well? What are you waiting on?” Future Wyatt asks.

“You guys wanna get Rufus back or what?” Future Lucy questions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This concludes the (mostly) canon compliant portion of the fic. I hope you all hold on for the rest of the wild ride to the finish.


	26. Sutter's Mill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flynn is forced to confront an uncomfortable journal passage. The team strategizes how they can save Rufus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the use of this "darkest timeline" from that "Christmas isn't canon movie," but my version is going to turn out to be MUCH different than that, so please keep that in mind when you read this. I promise, this fic has a happy ending for Garcy.

The entire team stares in disbelief.

“That’s… _us_ ,” Wyatt stammers.

“It’s not possible,” Connor proclaims.

“Well, actually it is,” he counters as he peers over at Lucy.

It’s not so much as an, “I told you so,” but more a confirmation that what he told her about São Paulo is true. 

They all wait for the remainder of the team to file out of the machine, but there is no one else. That fact worries him most of all. He’d never let Lucy travel without him being there to protect her, unless…

“Where’s future me?” Jiya questions.

“Back at the bunker in case something goes wrong,” Future Wyatt answers.

Jiya glances over at him, wavering whether or not to ask the other obvious question or not. She chooses not to.

“Where are you from? _When_ are you from?” Wyatt asks.

“2023,” Future Wyatt responds.

No wonder he doesn’t recognize this new version of Lucy. The one that visited him in São Paulo said she was from 2024, an entire year later. A lot can change in a year, so it’s still possible she _was_ the one who gave him the journal. _Is it a change, or was this supposed to happen from the beginning? Is he dead and that’s why he’s not with this version of Lucy?_ _Would they tell him if he was?_ He has so many questions, he doesn’t even know where to begin.

“How are you even here? In your own timelines, the side effects-” Mason questions.

“We're not immune to the effects,” Future Lucy answers. 

“We don't have much time,” Future Wyatt reminds Future Lucy.

“I know.”

Mason questions why they would endanger themselves like this and Future Wyatt explains they didn’t have much of a choice because they can’t stop Rittenhouse without Rufus.

“Rittenhouse still exists? In 2023?” Denise asks in disbelief.

“What’s happened where you are?” Connor inquires.

“I thought I'd lost everything, so all that was left to do was to fight. Not for the past anymore, but for our future. Everyone's future. Fight for each other. It wasn't enough, though. And, we lost the only thing we had left,” Future Lucy explains before turning her head and purposefully meeting his eyes. “Hope.”

He remembers telling her that they couldn’t give up hope if they wanted to save their loved ones, and this Lucy is confirming she did just that. The way she says it is all the confirmation he needs that he is indeed dead in this version of the future, because he would never let Lucy give up hope.

“But, this can't be the end of our story! We've come too far, we've sacrificed too much. There has to be a way to get back what we lost, to make things right and save the people we love no matter what,” Lucy argues with her future self.

“It's all up to you now. You have to change history,” Future Lucy replies.

“Wait. You said we can get Rufus back. How?” Jiya asks.

Future Lucy reaches into a satchel bag and pulls out a leather-bound journal. She hands it to her present self and informs her that everything she will need in order to figure out how to save Rufus is in there.

“How is my journal supposed to help?”

“You and Flynn need to figure it out together,” Future Lucy replies.

Lucy glances over at him, silently questioning if he’s withholding the answers the team needs, since he practically has that thing memorized.

“Flynn?” Wyatt protests. “What does he-”

“Yes, Flynn!” Future Wyatt chastises.

“Both of you planned and plotted out these missions in the first place. You’re the only ones who can figure this out… _together_ ,” Future Lucy emphasizes.

Future Wyatt advises that it’s time to go, despite Lucy and Jiya’s protests.

“There's no time, just focus on the journal, okay? Start with page-”

Suddenly, Future Lucy grabs the side of her head and hunches over in pain. Present Lucy wants to know what’s wrong with her and if she’ll be alright. Future Wyatt explains that she’s experiencing the side-effects of traveling into their own timelines and that they need to go now.

“Take our Lifeboat. It's a lot easier to fly. A few upgrades,” Future Wyatt informs the team. “Don’t worry about, Lucy. She’ll be fine as long as we leave now.”

Jiya questions if they’re able to fly the current Lifeboat and Future Wyatt confirms they can. 

“Remember, save Rufus and change history or else you’ll wind up like us,” Future Lucy warns again before climbing into the Lifeboat.

The future versions of the team jump a second later and they’re all left to wonder what information Future Lucy and Wyatt left out. It’s patently obvious to him that they were being intentionally cryptic about it all. Future Lucy especially appeared to be grasping at straws, as if this was her last Hail Mary attempt to fix the ills that had befallen the world. They obviously weren’t able to figure out a way to save Rufus and their loved ones, or they would have done it. _Why would their present selves be able to do any better? Is it because both of them are in the present and Future Lucy is by herself?_

Jiya and Connor immediately decide to check out the upgraded Lifeboat they’ve been gifted, and Lucy peers over at him with the journal in her hand and a question in her eye.

“Let's just go. I mean, if we can go back to our own timelines, then let’s go back to our own timelines,” Jiya suggests.

“Are you overlooking the fact that Future Lucy's head nearly exploded? For all we know, that was their one and only trip,” Connor cautions.

_Should he tell them? He has to tell them, right?_

“It wasn't the only trip. Lucy came to see me in São Paulo before all of this began. And, it explains why Future Wyatt wasn’t suffering as much as she was,” he advises.

Connor, Denise and everyone else asks him what the hell he’s talking about. He only ever told Lucy about what happened, and she didn’t believe him either, so he doesn’t blame them for thinking he’s lost all his marbles.

“Christmas Eve, 2014. Lucy showed up and handed me the journal.”

“The Lucy we just saw?” Connor question.

“She didn’t have short hair like that, so I can’t be sure if it was the same woman. She said she was from the year 2024, but it _was_ Lucy. She traveled to a time she existed before. It's possible.”

“But not without side effects. Headaches are just the beginning. Well, everybody's tolerance is different, but if you stay too long, there are nosebleeds, seizures, brain damage, memory loss, and then eventually, insanity and death,” Connor clarifies.

“If Lucy, Flynn and Wyatt are willing to risk their lives for Rufus, then so am I,” Jiya proclaims.

He holds his hand in the air to get the team’s attention.

“Uh, I don’t remember agreeing to any such thing,” he announces.

Jiya’s face drops and Lucy gives him a “really?” glare, so he quickly clarifies his statement.

“But, I will.”

Jiya beams back at him like a kid on Christmas morning. A second later, Lucy grabs onto his forearm and begins dragging him towards his room.

“We’ll let you know when we have any ideas,” she calls back to the team as they stroll down the hallway.

They retreat back to his room. Lucy takes a seat on the cot and he reluctantly sits in that abhorrent chair. She questions if he can think of anything in the journal off the top of his head that would help save Rufus. He shakes his head no, but holds his hand out towards her. She hands him the journal and he starts flipping through to see if something will jump out at him.

A second later, Lucy cocks her head to the side and taps the space next to her.

“Why don’t you come over here and we can read it together? Two genius heads are always better than one, right?”

He chuckles, then gets up and slowly shuffles towards the bed. It’s not as if he’s never been physically close to her in this lifetime, but for some reason a shy nervousness bubbles up within him. He sits down, but makes sure to leave a sizable gap between them. His memory conjures up images of their first encounter in Rome and how she was initially too shy to be physically close to him. _Oh, how the tables have turned indeed._

He’s actually too far away for her to read comfortably, so she scoots over even closer. Being this near to her naturally causes his heart to flutter, so he has to concentrate extra hard. Lucy starts at the beginning, meticulously reading every detail written on the page.

She gets multiple pages in, when she suddenly leans her head on his shoulder.

“Flynn, are we gonna be able to figure this out? Our future selves couldn’t, so why would we?” Lucy questions with tears forming in her eyes.

“Because, unlike them, we haven’t given up hope. We _won’t_ give up hope!”

She stares at him with doubt written all across her face. He didn’t want to say anything and chance upsetting Lucy any further than she already is, so he didn’t draw attention to the fact that there was no future him on that jump. But now, now he’s going to have to.

“Perhaps we’ll be able to figure it out now, because we have both of our genius brains at our disposal, whereas, they only had you,” he hypothesizes.

Her brow furrows and she tilts her head back to get a better look at him.

“What do you mean they only had me?”

“You didn’t see a future version of me on that ship, did you? I’m obviously not around to help,” he explains.

Her face goes as white as a sheet at the mere mention of it. She shakes her head vehemently and mutters no a few times.

“Maybe you weren’t on the jump because you were injured on a mission. It’s highly probable, since you’re a freaking bullet magnet,” she jokes as she nudges his shoulder playfully.

He smiles weakly back at her, knowing full well that she’s trying to talk herself out of what she knows to be true in her heart of hearts.

“Lucy, you can’t truly believe that I’m alive in 2023 if your future self gave up hope, do you? You know I’d never let that happen, right?” he questions with a raise of his brow.

She peers up at him, tears visible in her eyes, and gives him a slight nod. The mood has now grown somber, so she begins to thumb through the journal once more.

After a while, she starts to flip more towards the back. Of course, she stumbles upon the one entry he didn’t want her to see: the Titanic mission.

 _"Was it preordained to bring Flynn and I together?_ _I’ll never know. I sat wrapped in a blanket, lost in thought and then Flynn kissed me. And, finally, the pain I felt for so long dissipated. So, I kissed him back…”_

Of all the entries in this entire journal, she has to see this one? He’s so embarrassed, he wants to crawl into a hole right about now.

“The Titanic? This hasn’t happened yet,” Lucy announces as she turns to look at him.

_And, it never will. Even if things hadn’t changed previously, his promise to let her go in this lifetime would’ve prevented him from kissing her; at least he hopes._

“Not unless history’s changed and we don’t know it,” he jokes.

She’s about to ask him another question when the jump alarm sounds.

They spring up from the bed and head out to the computer bay.

“January 28, 1848, near Sacramento,” Connor advises.

“Lucy?” Denise questions.

“That's four days after gold was discovered at Sutter's Mill; which instigated the gold rush; which basically made California a state.”

“So, Rittenhouse wants gold? Shocker,” Wyatt states.

“A time travel robbery? Let them have the gold. Let them have California. We need to focus on getting Rufus back,” Jiya decries.

Agent Christopher reminds the team what the protocol has been since day one.

“When the Mothership jumps, we chase it.”

“What is the point of getting Rufus back if we just let Rittenhouse decimate history?” Lucy points out.

Jiya asks Lucy if she’s joking since Future Lucy said they need Rufus in order to stop Rittenhouse. Lucy counters by reminding Jiya that Rufus trained her as a pilot for this very reason.

“It's what Rufus would want. We need to find and stop their sleeper agent. Plus, Flynn and I are no closer to finding a solution than we were an hour ago,” Lucy declares.

He can see the despair reappear on Jiya’s face. _I guess she figured they would figure it out relatively quickly._

Jiya reluctantly agrees and the team climbs into the upgraded Lifeboat. Lucy asks if his arm is okay and he tells her it’s fine. It’s not completely healed, but it’s operational. 

“You got a little bit of something here,” he informs her as he touches his lip.

“Makeup can only cover so much,” Lucy answers with a frown.

He didn’t mean to embarrass or upset her. He was just genuinely trying to be helpful. _How didn’t he notice that before?_

Suddenly, Jiya gets excited and announces that the Lifeboat is equipped with autopilot.

“You just plug in the date and location. I guess future me built a DeLorean out of the Lifeboat. That's a joke Rufus would've made,” Jiya mutters.

Jiya sighs after she mentions his name, stating that she wishes he could’ve seen this. Lucy confidently proclaims that he _will_ see it. The authoritative manner of Lucy’s proclamation suggests hope may be regaining a foothold with the team once more. And, it couldn’t have come at a better time.

**_Coloma, California, January 28, 1848_ **

Once they arrive and perform their requisite pilfering of period clothing, they enter the town and start searching for the sleeper agent. Normally, he doesn’t care what style or period the clothing is from, but he’s tickled pink to be able to realize his childhood fantasy of being a cowboy. This is definitely an outfit he will be holding onto when they get back to the present. _Doc Holliday eat your heart out._

They spot a group of men loitering outside of one of the buildings.

“You think that's the sleeper?” Wyatt questions.

“No, I think that's James Marshall,” Lucy answers matter-of-factly.

“Who's James Marshall?” Wyatt asks.

“He's the millwright who discovered gold. He's bringing it here to show his boss, John Sutter. Speak of the devil. Looks like history's still on course,” Lucy adds as she spots the man in question.

She tugs on Wyatt’s arm and pulls them closer to where Jiya and he are standing. Unfortunately, a bunch of the cowboys hanging around start cat-calling and making inappropriate comments towards Lucy and Jiya. He’d like nothing more than to throttle these knuckleheads into the next century, but the women on this team are quite capable of defending their own honor, so he doesn’t. However, Lucy can’t hold her tongue.

“Has _any_ woman ever responded positively to that?” she snaps.

“Just admiring the view, miss. We don't see many women 'round here, especially pretty ones,” the cowboy replies.

“First that redhead and the blonde this morning and now these two,” the other cowboy says to the first.

That catches the entire team’s attention. They ask the cowboys about the other two women, but don’t really gain any useful information. 

“You think she's here to activate a sleeper?” he asks Lucy.

“Maybe we should talk to Sutter first. There's a reason Emma didn't go straight to the mill,” she surmises.

“Guys. They weren't here for Sutter,” Jiya advises.

They all turn and glance over to where Jiya’s pointing and find four “Wanted: Dead or Alive” posters with their faces plastered on them. He reads the poster for himself and chuckles. Pilfering and blackmail. _What, no murder? He’s insulted. Emma must be slipping._

“Okay, now that's our cue to steal some horses and catch up with the sleeper at Sutter's Mill,” he suggests.

“We need to change,” Lucy advises.

Naturally, Wyatt questions this statement as if Lucy is only interested in playing period fashion show or something. _The man’s stupidity never ceases to amaze him._

“Two women on horseback will be pretty easy to spot,” he states pointing out the obvious to his clueless teammate.

Wyatt finally understands and shrugs his shoulders in response. They quickly move off the streets, finding a small shed to hide in for the moment. Given the lack of women in the general vicinity, he and Wyatt are in charge of finding male clothing for Lucy and Jiya, while the women wait there.

A short while later, he returns with Lucy’s new clothes, complete with a beige hat that matches her coat. He stands guard while she changes and they wait for Wyatt to return with clothes for Jiya. Thankfully, Wyatt returns a few minutes later. Naturally, the dumbass assumed he was getting clothing for Lucy. He can’t say he doesn’t enjoy the look of confusion on the man’s face when he got back and found out otherwise.

After Jiya changes, they sneak through the town, steal four horses and set off towards Sutter’s Mill. The land is dry, the sun unforgiving, as they ride towards the mill. He spots a tree up ahead and decides it’s a good place to rest the horses and get out of the heat for a little bit. He ties his horse’s reins to the tree branch, then wanders over to make sure Lucy’s not having any issues wrangling in her horse. He’s about to ask if she needs help, when she glances up at him and cuts him off.

“All this time, you knew what was in the journal. Why didn't you tell me that we were going to be together?” she asks shyly.

 _Crap._ He’s not prepared for this conversation right now. It’s highly unlike Lucy to discuss such personal things on missions in the first place, so he knows that Titanic journal entry has been weighing on her mind. There’d be no other reason for her to bring it up if it wasn’t.

He tries to think quickly for a plausible reason to give her. He can’t exactly be truthful and explain his _real_ reasoning. He didn’t tell her about them getting together, because of his wild theory about giving up on her in order to be with her in the next lifetime. If he never told her and never acted on his feelings, their future would undoubtedly change and the journal would be wrong again. He’s going to have to go with that. _At least it’s partially true._

“I told you, it can be unreliable. Things have changed.”

“And, what if that’s not one of them?” she questions as she glances up and meets his eyes.

Again, he has to think quickly, because Lucy is never one to give up easily on an argument, but the softness in her eyes right now is melting his brain. It’s the first time in this lifetime that she’s ever looked at him like that. He knows each and every one of her looks and facial expressions and what they mean, but this time he’s even more confused than ever. He doesn’t dare to dream that something has changed between them once more and this means what he thinks it does. How could it? He knows she doesn’t feel that way about him. 

She’s still waiting expectantly, so he has to come up with something.

“I also didn’t want to influence any of your behavior based on an inconsistent journal.”

She eyes him warily. She’s not buying his excuses right now. She knows something’s fishy. Try as he might, he can’t hide things from her for long. 

“You handed me the journal before you were arrested and Denise took it. I would’ve seen the entry eventually. Try again,” she declares with a frown.

He’s been caught being less than completely truthful with her and it’s killing him.

“Honestly? I didn't really believe it. I'm not exactly your type,” he states as he swallows hard.

He’s been her type in every other life, but not this one. That’s patently obvious to him based on his observations of her interactions with Wyatt. They’re just good friends and that’s all.

“You don't know anything about my type,” she corrects.

He inadvertently glances over in Wyatt’s direction. He remains silent, which only serves to outrage Lucy even further. She huffs loudly, throws her hands into the air and walks away shaking her head. He will admit the silent treatment is not the best or most adult way to deal with a conversation about difficult subject matter, but it serves its purpose. They need to deal with Rittenhouse anyway. They can deal with their non-existent romantic relationship later.

Suddenly, the sound of hooves echoes across the field. Wyatt announces that they have company. He doesn’t pull his weapon, but does have it at the ready if need be. A band of Mexican cowboys rides in hard, armed to the teeth. 

“You gringos stole my horses!” the cowboy exclaims.

Lucy somehow manages to figure out who this cowboy is, and he allows her to explain it to the group. It turns out, the man’s name is Joaquin Murrieta, one of the most dangerous bandits in California. His half-brother was murdered and his wife assaulted after a dispute over a mule. He killed the men who committed the heinous atrocity. 

“Not all of them,” Murrieta corrects. “I don't like when people mess with what belongs to me. Those horses are mine.”

Lucy tries to explain by telling Murrieta that her friend was murdered too and that the four of them are just looking for the people that did it.

“Tragic story, I'm sure. You know they hang people for stealing horses? Don't worry, I'll save you the pain in the neck,” Murrieta teases.

Suddenly, Jiya interjects, stating she doubts they hang people for stealing stolen horses. She knows they’re stolen because each one of them has a different brand on them. Murrieta is caught, and he has the sinking suspicion that this is about to get very ugly, very fast. He glances over at Wyatt, who is just as ready for a fight as he is. They both pull their guns and Murrieta and his men do the same. 

They’re now at an armed standstill. Lucy pipes up a second later, advising Murrieta that if he kills them, they won’t be able to show him where there’s lots of gold to be had. This gets the cowboy’s attention for sure and the two parties come to a tentative agreement. Murrieta informs the team that they’ll ride until nightfall and then make camp. 

The ride is exhausting and rough and they finally make camp at sundown. As they gather around the fire for their meager meal, Murrieta takes a special interest in him and sits down beside him. They begin to shoot the breeze a little, starting with small talk about his gun. It quickly devolves into deeper discussion, but Murrieta is not in the best place to hear it right now.

“I don't want your sympathy, gringo. You can't begin to understand,” Murrieta spits.

He goes on to tell the man how his family was murdered by terrible people too and that violence didn’t solve anything.

“It just created more pain,” he advises.

Murrieta argues that his family’s murderers deserve to be punished and he agrees. He also imparts that it won’t help his family.

“You will just become as bad as those men.”

“You have given up your quest for revenge? For what?” Murrieta asks with an intense curiosity.

His eyes drift to Lucy, sitting by the fire reading through the journal. Murrieta follows his gaze and sighs in understanding.

“The things we do for love,” Murrieta laughs.

_He once said those exact same words, but they mean even more currently._

Murrieta moves off to speak with his men and he joins Lucy next to the fire.

“Have you found anything yet?” he asks.

“Nothing useful to help save Rufus, unless you count reliving the source of my claustrophobia,” she answers with a wry smile.

He tilts his head and peers at her with a puzzled expression.

“The car accident I had in college. It turns out almost drowning on the Titanic brought back those nightmares I thought had finally stopped; ever since the Hindenburg at least,” she elaborates.

“You mentioned the accident in the journal a few times, but not the specifics.”

She chuckles again.

“Probably because it’s immaterial to most of our missions. It was November 26, 2003. The night before Thanksgiving. I was on my way from Stanford to my mother’s house to tell her I was dropping out of school and joining a band,” Lucy begins.

As he listens to her story, he begins to understand another piece of the puzzle that is Lucy Preston. Of course, their moment doesn’t last long, because Wyatt and Jiya join them by the fire a second later.

“I have it! It’s Jessica. Jessica is the reason Rufus is dead,” Wyatt exclaims.

Wyatt goes through his half-cocked theory, and although some of it makes complete sense, the rest is a stretch by any means.

“Jessica has to be taken out of the timeline somehow and I'm gonna be the one to do it. I will make sure that Jessica never steps foot in the bunker,” Wyatt announces proudly.

This piece of garbage is talking about killing his wife; the same wife Wyatt asked him not to kill only hours before; the wife he claimed was the love of his life. If it were him in that position, he’d rather kill himself than ever kill or contemplate killing Lucy or Lorena.

The rest of the group continues to argue about Wyatt going back on his own timeline, when it hits him. It won’t solve all of their problems, but it should save Rufus and give them an edge in the war against Rittenhouse. He honestly can’t believe he hadn’t thought of it before, or how simple a solution it truly is. It’s also a part of the journal. It ticks all the boxes, except the fact that he and Lucy didn’t figure it out _together_. It’s dangerous, but doable. Hopefully, the side effects will be minimal. 

The only bad thing is that it has to be him. Jiya would be the ideal candidate to go on this mission, since she wouldn’t have to worry about traveling into her own timeline, but he can’t-he can’t ask her to blacken her soul like that. She’s a good person and he never wants that to change. He’s condemned enough people to the pits of hell, he doesn’t need to add another. Plus, if he’s learned anything from that debacle going back to try and kill David and John Rittenhouse after Lucy stopped him the first time, it’s that they’ll only get once chance at this. They can’t afford for Jiya to chicken out or grow a conscience at the last minute.

He won’t allow Lucy or Jiya to risk their own lives, and he certainly doesn’t want Wyatt there to muck it all up like he does with everything else. Plus, Lucy still has to go back and give him the journal. She can’t do another trip into her own timeline. She’d never survive. There is no other choice, no other option. If something does go wrong, he’d be the easiest one on the team for Agent Christopher to replace. No one except for the man they’re trying to save could replace Jiya’s skills as a pilot. And, as for Lucy…well, she’s irreplaceable in his book. 

The problem is, he has a feeling that Lucy will never allow him to go on his own. She will insist on going with him, which means that the other two will insist as well. Too much could go wrong. No, he’s going to have to be stealthy to pull this off. Lucy can yell at him when he gets back. He’s always been a ‘better to ask for forgiveness than permission’ type of guy to begin with.

Since he can’t think of a better time than the present, he decides to sneak out of camp at the break of dawn. Murrieta catches him, of course, but he lies and tells him he’s going to ride ahead and scout. The outlaw seems to buy it, so he takes off in the direction of the mill on his horse and doubles back around once he’s sure he’s out of sight.

He rides hard back toward the town of Coloma, stopping only briefly to rest his horse. Once he reaches the Lifeboat, he takes a few minutes to scope out how this autopilot actually works. Better to play with it now than when he needs it in the past.

Once he gets the details down on how it works, he begins to input the date into the system, but stops suddenly. Even though he doesn’t plan on spending a great deal of time in his own timeline, there’s a real possibility that the side effects could incapacitate or kill him. He really should leave a note to explain his actions to Lucy and the team in case he comes back a vegetable, or worse, doesn’t come back at all.

He digs into one of the panels they have in the ship for medical kits and extra ammunition and finds a pad of paper and a pen. He leans back into the pilot’s seat, runs his hand through his hair and takes a deep breath before he begins writing.

He finishes the letter, secures it to the chair he normally sits in, then double checks the jump information. After he confirms the information is correct, he closes the hatch and then jumps.


	27. Palo Alto

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flynn embarks on a mission to save a team member.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has always been a headcanon of mine and I've always wanted to write it, so I did. I feel like it fits in perfectly with the story, because let's be honest, Flynn wouldn't endeavor to save Rufus before insuring he saved Lucy first. Hope you all don't get too mad that I diverted off the fix-it path slightly.

**_November 26, 2003, Palo Alto, California_ **

He’s not exactly sure when he thought it was a possibility, but somewhere along the way it did occur to him the possibility was very real indeed. Lucy had discussed the car accident a few times in the journal, which caused him to wonder if there was something more to it than just a record of her claustrophobia. If he’s wrong, the accident will occur and a mysterious Good Samaritan will save her. If that’s the case, the side effects from traveling on his own timeline should be minimal, since he can just turn back around and jump to his next location. On the other hand, if his hunch is correct and he _is_ the one who saved her all those years ago, he has to make sure he does it again. _Everything_ depends on it. If she doesn’t survive the car accident, she can never go back and give him the journal. If she doesn’t give him the journal, Rittenhouse wins.

The last piece of the puzzle for him was when she mentioned she never got the opportunity to thank her rescuer, since the man seemed to disappear off the face of the Earth after that. _Did Rittenhouse take the man out afterwards, or is it because her rescuer disappeared to a different time?_

He doesn’t know where the accident happened exactly, but he does know the approximate time. He also knows that Lucy was headed to her mother’s house when it occurred, so he decides his best bet is to find her at Stanford and follow her for the duration of the drive. He can’t take the chance he’d miss her if he guesses on her route home. _He probably should have asked Lucy for more specifics, but that may have tipped her off._

The Lifeboat lands with a thud. He really hopes nothing was damaged in the landing. It would mean certain death for him and his team. The doors open and he pokes his head out. The ship has landed in a park, which thankfully is pretty much deserted except for a few joggers off in the distance. It appears to be in one piece, but he won’t know until he tries to jump again. 

He removes his cowboy hat and leaves it on the pilot’s seat. He has a hard enough time blending in on a good day due to his height, he doesn’t need to broadcast it even further with that huge hat. The old western clothes are plenty bad enough.

He scampers out of the machine and closes the door. He does his best to quickly camouflage it. He can’t spend a lot of time on this, but it is a necessary evil. 

He practically sprints out of the park, conscious of the fact that the sun is already beginning to set. As soon as he hits the street, he scans the area and the parked cars for the perfect one to steal. He selects the black Audi that’s parked under the tree. He double checks to make sure no one is watching, then looks down at the lock. He didn’t exactly come prepared for this. He sighs loudly, knowing that breaking into this car will take extra time without his lock pick. It’s time he doesn’t have. _Ironic, given he has a damn time machine_. 

He pulls the door handle up to get a better look at the lock in the dimming light. Amazingly, the door pops open. _Finally, a little bit of luck!_ He slides into the driver’s seat, banging his knee as he does. Obviously, the owner of this car is not as tall as he is. He pushes the seat back and checks around for a spare set of keys. _No dice._

It takes him longer than he wants to hotwire the car, but he manages to get it started. He shrugs on the tan-colored jacket lying on the passenger seat, hoping to cover up his western clothes as best as he can. He flies down the road, ignoring speed limits and stop signs along the way.

He arrives at Stanford shortly thereafter and follows the signs to student parking. He’s grateful that it’s not the middle of the day, because he most certainly does not look like a student. The parking lot is half-empty already, which makes his search for Lucy’s vehicle that much easier. Not that he knows what type of car she drives. He should’ve asked Lucy more about this so he could’ve been better prepared. 

Unfortunately, he’s going to have to improvise again, which he should be used to by now. He drives as slowly as he can through the parking lot without looking like some creepy pervert. He passes by the first two rows of cars, but doesn’t see anything that might be what Lucy’s driving. He seriously doubts Carol would allow her daughter to drive a Mustang, nor can he picture Lucy driving the Jeep with the tinted windows. He’s already ruled out the older car models, knowing that Carol would insist her daughter drive a reliable vehicle. 

He makes another pass around the lot, then notices a group of students milling around at the entrance to the nearest building. He finds a spot to park, then cranes his head back towards the building. A few of the students disperse from the group and begin walking to their cars. He ducks down as best as he can as two of them stroll by his vehicle. 

Once he’s sure the coast is clear, he glances back towards the door. At first, he almost misses her. He’s so used to what Lucy looks like now, that her younger self nearly slipped right by him. Her hair is longer than it is now and much curlier as well. She has on a yellow tank top and a pair of jeans. He can’t help but notice that she has the same infectious smile. _Still as gorgeous as ever._

The guy she’s with walks her over towards a silver Honda. He smiles to himself a little since the silver car was one of the vehicles he thought could possibly be hers. He assumes that the man practically gnawing her face off right now must be the infamous Jake. He’s not as tall as himself, but he’s not as short as Wyatt. The man has dark hair and a slender, yet muscular build. _She really does have a type, doesn’t she?_ He has no right to be jealous of this twit, but he is. _What he wouldn’t give to be kissing her right now._

He shakes the thought out of his head. He needs to focus. He already can tell that the effects of being in his own timeline are starting to slow his reaction time. When he glances back up, Lucy is already in her car and backing out of her parking spot. Jake stands on the side waving goodbye as she turns and drives towards the exit. 

He waits until she passes him by before putting the car in gear. He chuckles to himself as he hears her singing along at the top of her lungs to John Denver. He waits a few beats, then proceeds to follow her out of the parking lot. He drives casually, making sure to keep his distance, although Lucy’s not exactly checking for a tail. And, why would she be? She’s just a junior in college who wants to quit school and go sing in a band.

He tails her from campus to the expressway, as he glances at the clock every so often on the dash. They have to be getting closer to the accident scene. He knows the accident happened around 8:30, and it’s already 8:15. Nevertheless, he still remains vigilant in case Lucy’s time estimation was off by a little bit.

He can feel the anxiety bubbling up within him. A headache is coming on as well. He was really hoping he’d have enough time to make this jump and a couple of others in order to set everything straight. He chose this one first because saving Lucy’s life is paramount. But, if he doesn’t save her soon, he’s most likely not going to get to his other missions. 

He peers up at the dashboard again. It’s now 8:23. Suddenly, Lucy’s blinker goes on and she veers into the right lane of the expressway. He wasn’t anticipating the move and he can’t get over right away since there’s another car there. He slows down slightly as his car passes hers in the next lane. 

When he glances over, she’s still singing along to her radio, oblivious to the world around her and the fact she’s about to almost die. He loves seeing her so carefree and full of life. It’s been a long time since he’s seen her like that and he definitely misses it. 

8:26. Lucy’s turn signal lights up again as they approach the next exit. He slows down even more and puts on his own turn signal. The guy next to him is refusing to let him over and he’s about to miss his damn exit. He speeds up and then veers into the next lane cutting the guy off. He then swerves into the off-ramp lane making it just in time.

8:28. She stops at the light at the end of the off-ramp. It turns green a moment later and she makes a left hand turn. He does the same, remaining approximately two car-lengths behind her. The road is dark and desolate, devoid of that awful Bay Area traffic for the most part. Two cars pass them in the opposite direction as they continue to drive along. He spots the river out the passenger window and then flashes his eyes to the clock.

8:30. There’s a slight curve in the road ahead, so he slows down a little. Lucy, on the other hand, does not. Her car hits the oil slick in the road, then skids and swerves towards the guardrail. The car hits the guardrail at high speed. The sound of metal crunching and scraping fills the night air as the guardrail bends and snaps, plunging Lucy’s car down the ravine and into the river. 

He drives a few feet past the accident scene, then pulls to the side of the road. He quickly scans the area to see if someone else saw the accident and stopped, but there is no one on the road but him. He can’t wait too long, but he doesn’t want to rescue her if he’s not supposed to be the one to do it.

Every second that goes by feels like torture and he decides he’s waited long enough. He flings his door open and springs to his feet. Suddenly, a sharp pain stabs the side of his head. He grabs his head and pauses for a second, but then takes off running towards the broken guardrail. 

As he gets to the edge, he doesn’t even look before he practically leaps down the side of the ravine. The hillside is rocky and dark, and he needs to make sure he doesn’t get hurt himself as he makes his way towards the river. 

When he arrives at the water’s edge the car is almost completely underwater. He dives into the water and the briskness stuns him momentarily. He catches his breath and then dives down into the inky darkness. He can barely see his hand in front of his eyes, so he feels around until he lands on the cold steel of the vehicle. He skims his hands along the side trying to find the driver’s side door. Fumbling blindly into the nothingness, it takes a moment before he finally succeeds and finds the handle.

His brain is screaming at him that he needs to take a breath, so he swims up to the surface and gasps for air once he breaks through. His lungs are burning, his limbs are freezing, but he doesn’t care. He needs to save her. He _must_ save her.

He inhales another deep breath, ignoring the stinging pain he’s currently experiencing and dives down again. He’s suddenly able to see better as the moon peeks through the clouds. Lucy is not moving, her body floating in the car like an escaped helium balloon. He yanks on the door with all his might over and over again, but it will not budge. Panic courses through his veins. He needs to get her out of there and is once again cursing his poor planning. 

He comes up for air one more time, then dives down with the determination that he will drown himself before he lets her die like this. He kicks at the driver’s side window with everything he’s got, as the car continues to sink to the bottom of the river. 

He kicks again and hears a crack. It’s not a big one, but if he concentrates on that section, it just might break the window. The car hits the river bottom with a thud, jerking Lucy’s body forward towards the windshield. 

He switches to using his elbow and is finally able to smash through the window on this last attempt. His lungs are on fire, but he ignores it as he pulls her body through the window. Normally, she’s as light as a feather, but the weight of the water is making her much heavier than she truly is. 

He wraps his arm around her waist and tugs her close to his body. He uses his free arm to reach for the surface as he kicks with all the strength he has left. When every second counts, it seems like he’s swimming in slow-motion. After what feels like an eternity, he smashes through the surface, gasping and panting for breath. 

He ensures her head stays above water as he swims toward the shore. The frigid water is making his muscles cramp, which causes additional delay. 

Once he reaches the shallows, he’s able to cradle her in his arms and lift her out of the water. He rushes up the embankment and gently places her on a patch of grass. 

The sight of her cold, lifeless body shatters him completely. He drops to his knees as tears fall down his numb face. His hands shake as they reach out for her. This seems like some twisted version of reality, some cautionary tale of what if. 

He tilts her head back to assess her airway. As he suspected, she’s not breathing. She’s also got a nasty gash to her forehead, which is actively bleeding, but he needs to restore her breathing first. He begins chest compressions, then blows two breaths into her mouth. 

“Come on, Lucy. Breathe,” he mutters.

He continues pounding on her chest before he gives her mouth-to-mouth again. 

_Breathe, damn it! Breathe!_

He works feverishly on her, his determination compelling and urging him onward. 

“Please, Lucy. Please. I need you,” he cries.

An ambulance siren wails in the background, the sound drawing ever closer. 

“Hang on, Lucy. Help is coming.”

It feels like an eternity until he can see the ambulance’s flashing lights out of his periphery. He keeps working on her as he hears the emergency personnel approaching. 

He presses down on her chest again and she suddenly spits out a bunch of water.

“Lucy!”

He turns her head slightly, cradling her neck as she throws up more water. She’s gasping for air, her eyes wide with fear as she tries to process where she is. She grips onto his jacket with her icy, shaking fingers. 

“You’re safe. It’s okay,” he states softly, as he cradles her into his body and wipes a few errant strands of hair from her face.

Her body goes limp in the next instant, her eyes rolling back into her head. 

“No, no, no!”

He gently places her head back on the ground and leans in close. Thankfully, she’s still breathing, although it is ragged and erratic. He hears footsteps coming down the embankment behind him and turns to find the paramedics.

“What happened?” one of the paramedics asks.

“Her car went into the river. I pulled her out, performed CPR and got her breathing again,” he answers in a huff.

The other paramedic begins assessing Lucy while he explains what happened. 

“Thanks, we’ll take it from here,” the man says with a pat to his forearm.

He takes a step back, allowing the second paramedic to begin working on her as well. 

“What do we got?” the man asks his compatriot.

“Unresponsive white female; approximately eighteen to twenty-one years of age. Respiration 25; pulse is 111 and thready; BP 86/57. Large laceration on the forehead and potential closed-head injury,” the paramedic responds.

He watches in horror as the other paramedic prepares the backboard to transport her up the embankment to the awaiting ambulance. He senses the presence of someone behind him and turns to find a police officer responding to the scene. The officer asks him what happened and he explains that he saw the car go off the road and into the river. His mind is singularly focused on Lucy right now and really doesn’t want to be bothered with this cop’s questions. 

“What’s your name? Sir?”

“Huh?”

“Your name?” the officer asks again with a look of annoyance on his face.

He can’t give them his real name. It’s much, much too dangerous. He has to think fast though, before this cop becomes more suspicious than he already is. _Well, the alias worked once before, what’s one more time going to hurt?_

“Roe. Austin Roe,” he answers.

Unbeknownst to him, the officer writes it down as “ROWE.”

“Do you know the young lady, Mr. Roe?” the officer inquires.

“No, officer. She told me her name was Lucy. Lucy Preston.”

He watches intently as the paramedics place the non-rebreather mask over Lucy’s face. Next, they place her in a cervical collar to stabilize her neck. One of the paramedics holds her head and gently turns her to the side while the other slips the board under her back. They fasten the safety straps, including the one to immobilize her head. On the count of three, they lift her up onto the stretcher. The two men push the stretcher up the embankment and he instinctively follows. 

When he makes it to the top, he’s suddenly hit with another crushing pain to his head. It’s getting worse and he knows he can’t stay much longer. He also can’t just leave her like this without _knowing_ that she’s alright. 

As they lift her into the ambulance, he grabs the arm of one of the paramedics.

“Is she going to be okay?”

“She’s pretty banged up, but I think she’ll survive. You most likely saved her life, you know,” the man responds.

He automatically moves to get in the ambulance with her. It’s as if he’s on auto-pilot right now. His brain is a cloud of worry and pain, frozen in the moment. 

“Hey! Are you family?” the paramedic asks him.

“Uh, no.”

“Well, then you can’t ride with her,” the paramedic answers as he shuts the doors.

He nods his head in understanding. The paramedics climb back into the ambulance, flip on their lights and siren, and drive down the road. He stares after her in an almost catatonic trance. _Should he get in his car and follow the ambulance to the hospital?_ _What if one of those paramedics, or a nurse, or doctor is Rittenhouse?_ _Oh, no. What has he done?_

Panic snaps him back to reality. He takes a step towards his car, but almost buckles over with another sharp pain in his head. He wants to follow her with every fiber of his being, but his body has other ideas. Plus, he needs to save what strength he has left in order to make the next jump. It’s the other reason he made this decision in the first place. Lucy deserves a happy life. She doesn’t deserve to be dwelling in the darkness, losing herself in the process. She will _not_ become Lucy Croft if he has anything to say about it!

“Are you alright, Sir?” the police officer asks him.

“Uh, yeah. Just cold and wet, officer. I’ll be fine.”

“Wait here. You’re still a little shook up. I’m going to get statements and information from the other witnesses and then I’ll be back,” the officer explains.

He nods his head in affirmation, but he has no intention of waiting around for the officer to take a statement from him. He came here and did what he needed to do. He saved Lucy’s life and now he’s going to save Rufus’; not just because he does happen to like the guy a little bit, but for Lucy. She’s lost so much. If he can bring back her friend and make her life easier, he’s going to do it. It will not be easy. He knows this already. In fact, there’s a good chance he doesn’t make it out alive. 

He’s tried everything else to break this curse. The only thing he has never been able to do throughout their many lives together is not pursue her. If doing it here in this life means they can finally be together, he will gladly walk away. If it doesn’t work, he may not know how long it will be until he can see her again, but he knows that eventually he will. 

As soon as the officer reaches the other witnesses, he stumbles into his car. He’s thankful that he actually left the car on in his haste to get to Lucy. At least he can save time by not having to hotwire it again. 

The pain in his head is constant now. It’s the ever-present reminder that he needs to get a move on. He puts the car in drive and slowly moves down the road until he’s far enough away from the accident scene and the police officer. Once he rounds the bend, he puts the pedal to the metal and speeds back to the park where he left the Lifeboat. 

He decides to enter the park through the opposite entrance, so he abandons his stolen vehicle about a block away. His legs are heavy and his head is pounding, but he manages to hobble through the park and back to the ship. 

He quickly drags the branches off that he used to camouflage it and opens the door. He pulls his body up and into the ship and slumps into the pilot’s seat. He leans over, inputs the data for his next jump and then buckles himself into the seat. He takes a deep breath and then jumps to his next destination.


	28. Missouri

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flynn sets out on his attempt to save Rufus.

**_April 2, 1882, Missouri_ **

When the Lifeboat lands, the jerking motion tugs hard on his seatbelt, causing him to gag. He unbuckles himself and opens the hatch door. The second he dips his head out, he notices that the pounding headache he’s been sporting is gone. It makes sense to him, since he’s currently no longer traveling on his own timeline. He purposefully decided to come a day earlier just for that reason. He also figured it may give his body enough time to recover from his first jump.

He exits the Lifeboat and camouflages it the best he can. He’s not quite sure where the Time Team will land their ship when they arrive tomorrow, but he hopes it’s nowhere near here. That could potentially ruin everything and he’ll only get one shot at this. Everything depends on this mission. He’s gone over a thousand different scenarios in his head, and although this doesn’t solve all of his problems, it solves enough of them to make a huge difference in Lucy’s life. Just like everything else, this is all for her.

He sleeps in the Lifeboat that night and wakes at dawn. He knows where his past-self will land the Mothership and he needs to be in town and well-hidden before that happens. He knows the risk he’s taking by being in such close proximity to his other self, but it’s a risk he has to take. He could have easily jumped to when his past-self was just about to leave this place, but he couldn’t take the chance that he’d miss them or that his past-self would try to stop him. He just hopes he can perform physically at the level he’s going to need to and that the respite he had last night will be enough to restore his strength. If he’s crumpled over in pain because he’s too close, he’s going to wind up dead.

He makes his way into town and lingers around the saloon. He’s hoping that he can speak to Anthony when his past-self goes to save Jesse James. If he can convince Anthony to help him, his chances of success will definitely increase. If not, he’s going to have to execute Plan B. And, he really doesn’t want to have to go there unless he needs to.

He knows the minute his past-self arrives in 1882, as the pressure begins to build again in his head. He hides in an alleyway by the saloon and waits for his past-self and Anthony to arrive in town. He goes over and over what he’s going to say in his head, trying to imagine every possible response and reaction from Anthony and the counterpoints he’ll need to make. He’s really glad he had last night to recuperate, because he needs this genius brain of his to be at its best. 

As soon as he sees his past-self head out to save Jesse James, he makes his move. Anthony is oblivious to the fact that he’s being followed, so sneaking up on the man is an easy accomplishment.

“Anthony,” he whispers.

Anthony must not have heard him, because he keeps walking towards the Mothership. 

“Psst, Anthony!”

“Flynn? What happened?” Anthony questions, as Flynn grabs his forearm and leads him to the back of a building. “And, why are you wearing different clothing?”

“Because, I’m not the same Flynn that came with you. I’m from the future and I need your help,” he explains.

“What? How is that possible? We can’t travel on our own timelines,” Anthony muses.

“We can in the future. That’s not important. Focus, Anthony.”

“Rufus! Rufus figured it out, didn’t he? He always was brilliant,” Anthony states proudly.

“Actually, I believe it was Jiya, but-”

“Jiya? Huh. Good for her!” Anthony responds with a smile.

He slaps his hand hard on Anthony’s shoulder.

“Anthony…”

“So, what are you doing here? Did we fail the mission?” Anthony questions.

“Anthony, I know what you’re planning to do to the Mothership. I’m here to tell you, if you help me here, that won’t be necessary. It will change the course of this war in ways you cannot imagine,” he explains.

The smile is quickly erased from Anthony’s face as he goes as pale as a ghost.

“You-you know? Flynn, listen, I-”

“Anthony, I don’t care about that right now. Are you going to help me or not?”

“What do you need me to do?” Anthony asks.

As his past-self and Jesse James approach the bar, Anthony calls out to them. Past-Flynn tells Jesse he’ll meet him inside in a minute and strides across the street towards Anthony. Anthony looks nervous and directs his past-self to the alley on the side of the saloon. As soon as his past-self turns the corner to the alley, he whacks him in the head and knocks him out.

“He’s gonna be a miserable menace when he wakes up,” Anthony complains.

“Tough. We’ll be long gone by then. Trust me, Anthony. This is for the best. As soon as other me wakes up, you need to tell him that Jesse James took off. Got it?”

“What if other you tries to find another guide into Indian Territory?”

“Then, and _only_ then, can you explain what actually happened. Hopefully, past-me will trust that future-me is doing this for a good reason,” he answers honestly.

“Are you? Are you really doing this for a good reason, or is it what you _think_ is a good reason?” Anthony challenges.

“Is saving Rufus’ life a good enough reason for you?” he snaps.

He didn’t think it was possible, but Anthony’s faces goes an even whiter shade than it had been previously.

“Rufus? What does getting Emma have to do with Rufus?” Anthony asks in confusion.

“I don’t have time to explain all the nuances of this. Without getting into it, it has everything to do with Rufus. If you value your friend’s life, you’ll help me.”

“Al-alright then. Why do you care if Rufus lives or dies though?”

He smirks back at Anthony.

“Let’s just say things have changed _a lot_ in the future.”

Anthony nods his head in acknowledgment.

“Now, help me get his jacket off so I can trade places with him,” he instructs. 

After he swaps out his coat and hat with the ones he wore during the Gold Rush mission, he remembers he’s going to need the journal. He checks the coat pocket and smiles as he feels the heft of the journal.

He rounds the corner of the alley once more and enters the saloon. He sits down at the table with Jesse James, pulls out the journal and flips through the pages until he finds the map to the cabin. He explains to Jesse that he needs a guide to get to this particular cabin.

“That’s deep in Indian territory. They don’t really find our kind pleasant,” Jesse informs him.

“Which is exactly why I need you. You know the area better than anyone else. You’re good with a gun.”

“I ain’t just good, I’m the best,” Jesse brags.

“Which is why I need you.”

“This is what, a treasure map?” Jesse questions with skepticism.

“Something like that,” he answers.

_God, he really does despise this man. But, he knows he won’t make it to the cabin without him._

“Well, what’s the treasure?”

A waitress appears at their table and delivers the shots of whiskey they’d ordered. 

“She recognizes you,” he warns.

“I have an abundance of admirers. The treasure.”

“It doesn’t lead to money, it leads to someone,” he explains.

“Someone? So, there ain’t no gold, ain’t no robbery; just a person at the end of this hell? What’s so special about him?”

He would love to explain that Emma is her own special brand of hell. _This bastard would love her._

“They’re important to a cause I’m fighting for.”

_It’s not a complete lie, because it is important that he deals with her._

“Oh, yeah, what kind of cause?” Jesse asks.

“A patriotic one.”

“Oh, God, is there anything more dull?” Jesse states, as he rolls his eyes.

He drops the bag of money on the table to entice him.

“See, you should have led with this,” Jesse laughs.

“You’ll get the rest of the money when the job’s complete. Do we have a deal?”

“Sure.”

As soon as they reach their agreement, two men enter the saloon.

“Marshals. We should head out the back,” he suggests.

He knows this is useless, but he’s so afraid if he doesn’t do everything exactly the same as last time, it’ll screw up history even more so than what he’s about to do.

“Hey boys!” Jesse calls out to the Marshals.

“What the hell are you doing?” he growls.

“You looking for the world famous Jesse James?”

The Marshals glance in their direction.

“Because fortune has just smiled upon you,” Jesse announces before filling them full of lead.

He turns so Jesse won’t see him rolling his eyes. If there was any way of getting past the Native Americans without him, he would’ve just gone himself. 

“Now we can go. At least they died looking at something pretty,” Jesse jokes.

They mount their horses and take off riding south towards the cabin. Thankfully, the further away from his past-self that he gets, the better his head is starting to feel. He just needs to get through this mission. 

When they stop for a rest, he takes out his binoculars and scans the area. He spies the Time Team hot on their trail with the lawmen. _Good, right on schedule._ He can’t help but linger his gaze on Lucy a little longer than he should. _God, she looks so damn adorable in that cowboy hat. He’d love to see her in nothing but that hat._

Shaking the thought from his head, he turns to Jesse to try to move them along a little faster. 

“We’ve got a tail three miles out,” he warns.

“How many?”

“Five.”

“Good thing there’s six of us,” Jesse brags.

“What?”

_Good grief this man’s ego knows no bounds._

“Maybe hold off on the gunfire until we lose them,” he suggests.

“Relax, we got time.”

He remembers what happened last time when Jesse got a glimpse of his high-powered rifle. As much as he doesn’t want Lucy anywhere near this maniac with a loaded weapon, he knows the team makes it out of this encounter. He also knows that Lucy is the one that shoots his ass. He struggled mightily with having her go through that once again, but he’s terrified if he changes too much that this plan could go straight to hell. So, he shifts the saddle slightly enough for the rifle to be visible.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, where’d you get that rifle? You gotta let me handle that.”

“Later. We have to leave,” he replies.

“Why? Cause your cause is callin’? You know, I’ve got a question for ya. What happens if you win this cause you’re so quick to kill for?”

 _What happens? For starters, Emma can’t steal the damn Mothership and hand it over to Rittenhouse. She can’t kill Rufus or beat Lucy to a pulp. She can’t go back in time and save Nicholas Keynes. She can’t help Carol bring Jessica back, which solves a host of problems and presents a host of others, but he’ll deal with that later._

“It’ll be a better world,” he answers.

It’s not a lie, it would be a better world. But more importantly, it gives him and the team the opportunity to end Rittenhouse for good.

“What happens if you don’t win?” Jesse questions.

_Then, the world is fucked._

“It never occurred to me,” he lies just for consistency’s sake.

“See it should. The fact that it hasn’t, that’s your problem. Now, I can tell you think low of me, but rest assured brother, I used to be you.”

He tunes Jesse out after that, having heard his speech the first time around. There’s an awkward pause after Jesse finishes his little spiel and he realizes the man’s waiting for him to respond.

“What’s your point?” he barks.

He lets his mind wander back to his plan, as Jesse rambles about how he always wanted to be a killer.

“I just needed an excuse. You know what another word for excuse is? Cause.”

He guesses Jesse does have a point here, but what greater cause could there be above love? There is nothing he wouldn’t do for Lucy. Nothing.

“Are you saying that’s me?” he asks Jesse.

It’s at that exact moment that they spot the Native Americans surrounding them on the rocks above the canyon.

“Not too happy to see us.”

“We’re on their land,” Jesse answers.

“So, what’s the plan?”

“Plan is…I’ll show you why it was such a good idea to bring me along.”

He watches in horror as James guns down two men in no time flat. He has no choice but to engage the Native Americans as well if he wants to make it out of here alive. He’s not happy about this, but he can’t afford to grow a conscience right now either. 

After the battle is over, they mount the horses and proceed on their way. His head still hurts, so he knows his past-self hasn’t left this timeline just yet, which worries him slightly. He really needs to be at his sharpest around Emma; Jesse too for that matter. Thankfully, the pain continues to subside the further away from his other self he gets. 

They dismount their horses and trudge through the snowy woods as they approach the cabin. He knows he’s in the correct place, but checks it against the drawing in the journal anyway. 

“What in the hell is this place?” Jesse asks.

“Shh.”

Suddenly, two shotgun blasts ring out into the frosty air and they take cover behind a tree.

“I’ll lay down some cover fire,” Jesse advises.

“You won’t do a damn thing.”

Another shotgun blast pierces the silence.

“I’m not your enemy. I’m from the same place you are. I have a ship. I can take you to it,” he yells.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Jesse hollers.

“Listen, there are two of us. We could’ve taken you out already, but we don’t want to. We’re coming out now,” he announces.

He moves from behind the tree and holds his hands in the air to show her he’s not a threat. 

“I just want to talk. _Alone_.”

“Wait a minute. All this fuss for a woman?” Jesse asks with indignation.

“Just wait here,” he orders.

“The hell I will!”

“You want the rest of your money? This is a private conversation. Go get the horses.”

Emma lets him into the cabin, but doesn’t lower her shotgun. He glances around and takes it all in this time around. His eyes scour the modern tech strewn across the table. Now that he knows she was Rittenhouse’s first sleeper agent, he watches more intently than ever to see if there were signs of her betrayal that he missed before. 

“Well, you sure aren’t from around here, are you?” he teases, as he plasters a fake smile to his face.

“Draw a map to the ship.”

“I can take you to the ship. I can take you home,” he advises.

“I’m not going home. Draw the map,” Emma insists.

He takes a deep breath in order to get up the nerve to do what he needs to right now. It’s taking every bit of willpower he has not to just shoot her in the head. But, that could potentially change too much.

“I-I need you to listen to me. I’m not from Mason Industries, which means I’m not from Rittenhouse. That’s right. I know a lot about you, Emma. I know everything; all that you did for Mason Industries. And, you and Anthony Bruhl were the first ones they ever sent to travel through time. You should be up there with the likes of Glenn and Armstrong.”

He lays the charm on thick. _Lucy always said he could charm the skin off a snake if he had to._ He really hopes he can accomplish that exact feet right this second.

“Then something happened. Rittenhouse happened. They enlisted you, threatened people you loved if you refused to help them. It took its toll on you, the things Rittenhouse told you, the things they must have made you do. So, you found a way out. You faked your own death and hid in the past where Rittenhouse will never be able to find you. Anthony knew, but kept your secret. How long have you been hiding out here?” he asks.

She finally lowers the shotgun and lets out the breath she was holding.

“God, it’s been a decade now,” she answers.

“Alone, this whole time?”

“I had no choice. I had to run.”

“I ran too. After they killed my family. Then, one day I realized that I couldn’t run anymore; that I had to fight,” he declares.

“It doesn’t matter. You have no idea what you’re up against.”

“Oh, I think I have a pretty good idea,” he chuckles.

_He knows exactly how evil they are. He also knows what he’s about to do won’t destroy all of Rittenhouse, but it will change the tide back to his side._

“No, you don’t actually. I know things that Anthony doesn’t know, that nobody knows. The things that they have planned for that machine…”

_So do I, which is why they can never get their hands on it this time around._

“But that’s why I’m here, why I came so far to find you. I need to know what you know to stop them. Look, I’m not gonna force you. I’m mean, you can hide here in Frontierland, but if you do, anyone you’ve ever loved will be destroyed by Rittenhouse.”

She agrees to leave with him and go back to the ship. Everything unfolds just like it did last time. Unfortunately, he didn’t even notice any sign of her betrayal the second time. _She really is a freaking psychopath_. 

“You and the Mrs. all friendly now?” Jesse jokes as they exit the cabin.

“Something like that. I’m afraid that this is where we part ways, Jesse.”

“How you gonna get out of here?” Jesse asks.

“She knows the way.”

He throws another bag of money at Jesse.

“The second half of your money. I have a bonus for you.”

“Oh, yeah? What’s that?” Jesse questions.

“You know that posse that’s been on our trail? Well, I’ve neglected to mention who was leading it. Bass Reeves. You’ve heard of him?”

“I have.”

“I bet taking out the greatest lawman in the west would make quite the headlines.”

He almost gags on the words when he says them. He’s so far from the man he was when he was first here. That’s all because of Lucy and he refuses to let her down now.

“Sure as hell would make me popular with a certain set of righteous Americans,” Jesse muses.

“Well, happy trails, Jesse.”

“One more thing. You really want to take your chances against me? You know how fast I am.”

He has to admit that he was genuinely nervous the first time this happened. Even knowing what he knows now, it still makes him nervous. Jesse is the most unpredictable person he’s ever met. 

“What is this? What do you want?” he asks.

“Just one more little bonus,” Jesse answers, as he nods his head at the rifle in Flynn’s saddlebag.

“Listen, I can’t leave this with-”

“This bonus is non-negotiable,” Jesse demands.

This was the last thing he wanted to do last time, and it’s the last thing he wants to do now. But, he needs everything to go down the same way it did before to ensure Lucy and the team make it safely home.

He reluctantly hands over the rifle.

“Thank you kindly.”

Flynn grabs the reins of his horse and Emma follows him as he walks towards the woods.

“Hey, Flynn, when your cause fails and you find yourself drifting a little more my way, look me up. I’ll be waiting,” Jesse informs him.

He shakes his head and just keeps on walking.

“Who the hell was that?” Emma questions with a raise of her eyebrow.

“A complete psycho. It doesn’t matter. He’s not important,” he answers as he trudges through the snow.

They make small talk as they lead the horse through the woods. All he wants to do is strangle her with his bare hands for what she did to Lucy. But, he has to play nice, at least for a little while longer. 

He needs Emma to let her guard down, but again, that’s easier said than done. He knows that the closer they get to town, the worse he’s going to feel. He really hopes Anthony got his past-self out of here or else there might be a major problem later on. 

“If you’re not with Mason Industries or Rittenhouse, how did you get access to the ship?” she asks when they stop to water the horse at a stream.

“Infiltrated Mason Industries and stole it,” he replies with a casual air.

He doesn’t want to really talk to her or tell her much of anything in case this plan doesn’t come to fruition. 

“Are you an engineer?”

“No.”

“Then, how did you manage to pilot it?” she asks.

“I didn’t. I have a pilot. Stole him too,” he chuckles.

“Who?”

“Anthony Bruhl. How did you think I knew so much about you?” he laughs.

He knows more about her than he even wants to, including the fact that her father beat the crap out of her and her mother when she was young. He has to make sure to keep everything straight in his head, because he’s pretty sure Anthony wouldn’t be privy to that type of information.

“Anthony is here?”

He nods his head in affirmation, and watches as she surprisingly seems to relax her vigilance. _Perhaps he has finally found the one thing that may just put her at ease._

Once they arrive at the bottom of the canyon, Emma informs him that they should definitely ride hard for the next few miles, since the area is regularly patrolled by the local tribes. 

“Ah, yes, we had a little altercation with them on the way here. I don’t particularly want a repeat of that,” he responds.

He pulls on the reins and stops the horse.

“After you,” he indicates with a wave of his hand.

She climbs on the horse and he climbs on behind her. 

“You alright with taking the reins since you know the way better than I do?”

“Absolutely,” Emma answers with a smile.

He has her right where he wants her now; with her back to him. His left hand grips her waist lightly, so he doesn’t fall from the saddle. He doesn’t want to use both hands, because she will without a doubt notice when he pulls one back to do the deed.

“You might want to hold on a little tighter. This section of the canyon isn’t the easiest terrain,” she suggests.

 _Fuck._ He hopes she doesn’t suspect something is afoul, because there is no telling what she might do then. 

“Uh, I was trying to be a gentleman about it. After all, you don’t know me,” he lies.

It’s the best he can come up with right now and he _really_ prays she buys this excuse. 

“I’m pretty sure I can handle it,” she replies with a smirk as she turns her head back to look at him. 

_Fuck._ He has no choice now. His plan was to shank her in Native American territory. If someone came upon her body, they’d just assume she was killed by them and not think twice about it. 

He moves his right hand and grabs her waist as she gives the horse a swift kick. The horse takes off as they ride down the canyon straightaway. She’s going to have to slow down when they get to the steeper part of the canyon, so perhaps he’ll get another opportunity then.

His prediction about her having to slow down comes true as they approach the steep section. Loose rocks litter the ground before them, so the horse can’t just plow its way through.

“This is where we were ambushed on the way. I’ll keep my eyes out, you concentrate on the road ahead,” he tells her as he lets his right hand drift away from her waist. 

Her shotgun is within her reach, but unless she has superhuman speed, he maintains the advantage here. He can’t make any sudden moves. Everything must be precisely timed.

He slips his hand behind his back and grabs a hold of his knife. He waits until they get to a particularly rocky section of the canyon where Emma’s concentration needs to be at its best, before he unsheathes the knife. He closes his eyes for a moment and takes a deep breath. He’s about to break the one cardinal rule of his life: never hurt a woman. He can almost feel Lorena’s disappointment and disapproval. But, he’s not doing this for Lorena. He’s doing this for Lucy. Lucy’s no fan of murder either, but this is Emma _freaking_ Whitmore we’re talking about. She’s evil and heartless and more importantly, she’s Rittenhouse.

He’s just about to stab the knife into her side, when he spots movement in the brush ahead. _You have got to be kidding me. The Native Americans couldn’t have waited just a few more minutes before they attack them?_

“Two o’clock,” he mutters.

Emma snaps to attention, spotting the same patch of brush he did a moment ago.

“Ten o’clock as well,” he adds.

 _Damn it._ He’s going to have to wait before he winds up dead as well. _Or, does he?_ The natives will certainly kill him, but if he shoots her first…

He doesn’t truly want to die, so he opts for Plan B. 

“I won’t be able to reach my gun in time,” she whispers.

“No, but I can. I’m gonna lean forward and I want you to grab my revolver from my right hip. I’ll take down two o’clock with my knife, but you’re gonna have to get ten o’clock. Can you make the shot?” he whispers back.

“Not a problem,” she answers confidently.

He leans forward and as close as he can to Emma. She quickly snaps her hand back to his hip and grips his revolver. 

“On three,” he instructs.

They creep along the canyon path a little further. When he feels they’re close enough, he counts them down to three. He throws his knife and it strikes the man at two o’clock in the neck. Emma shoots at Mr. Ten O’clock, as he grabs the shotgun from the side of the saddle. Suddenly, two more men appear on their sides. He blasts the first one with the shotgun before Emma takes care of the other.

As the smoke clears and the threat has been neutralized, Emma hands him back his revolver. 

“We make quite the team. Nice shooting,” she opines.

He shoves the shotgun back into the side of the saddle. He wants to gag. _She just had to use that exact expression, didn’t she?_

“Did I say something wrong?” she questions.

 _Crap._ He must have made a face or something when she said it.

“Not exactly. It’s just-just something my wife used to say all the time.”

He lies, in a way. Emma only knows that Rittenhouse killed his family, so he’s sure she thinks he’s referring to Lorena. What she doesn’t know, is that Lucy is technically his first wife and he was referring to her. He’s glad about this, because he gets the sense that Emma may be able to tell when he’s lying. 

“I’m sorry,” she replies.

“Not a problem. Shall we?” he asks as he waves his hand towards the horse.

“Sure. You loved her a lot, didn’t you?”

“Still do,” he declares with authority.

_I will always love her._

They mount the horse and ride back towards town. As they round the bend and the town comes into view, his head starts pounding. _Fuck._ His past-self must still be here. He has no idea why, unless he’s still looking for a guide to go and get Emma. He was a man possessed at that point in time and a stubborn ass, so this really shouldn’t surprise him.

Even if we wants to lead her to the Lifeboat, they still have to make their way into town, since he hid the Lifeboat on the outskirts in the opposite direction. Plus, if his past-self doesn’t leave here soon, he runs the risk of running into him, which would not only be catastrophic for the both of them, but fatal to the mission at hand. 

He’s having trouble concentrating as they enter the town. 

“Where did you leave the ship?” she asks.

“On the outskirts of town. Head towards the church,” he mutters.

“Are you alright? You don’t look real good right now.”

“Migraine is coming on. I’ll be fine. Just head towards the church,” he instructs.

When they reach the saloon, Anthony appears out of nowhere. He waves at Emma and points to the alley.

Emma steers the horse towards the alley before he has a chance to figure out what is happening. Anthony is alone in the alley, but his head hurts so badly right now, he knows his other self can’t be far.

They dismount the horse and Anthony hugs Emma. A second later, he feels something wet on his upper lip. He wipes at his mouth with his sleeve and notices a tinge of blood. _Shit._ He’s going to have to do this right now, Anthony be damned. He didn’t want to do it right in front of him. Anthony and Emma were friends. 

Her back is to him, so he pulls out his revolver and aims it at her. Suddenly, his vision goes blurry and he feels someone behind him. He whirls on his heels to find his past-self with an extremely pissed off look on his face. 

“What the?” his past-self asks.

Emma turns around and sees the both of them. 

“Uh, you might want to help out your brother. He doesn’t look so good,” Emma advises before turning her attention back to Anthony.

“What the hell are you doing?” his past-self growls before grabbing his head in pain.

“She’s fucking Rittenhouse! She needs to die!” he yells.

He can barely see straight. There’s no way he can shoot her now. _Damn it! This whole plan is shot to shit._

The other him doesn’t appear to be as bad off, though he doesn’t look good either. His past-self grabs the gun from his hand and fires off three rounds. As he slumps against the wall, blood dripping from his nose, he glances down the alley. Anthony is holding his arm yelling out in pain and Emma’s lifeless body lies on the ground.

He turns his head back to his past-self. 

“You’re welcome. Now, get the hell out of here before you kill us both!” his other self orders.

“You shot me!” Anthony screams from the end of the alley. “And, you killed Emma!”

His other self pats him on the shoulder as he passes by. 

“She was Rittenhouse.”

“And, she killed Rufus!” he yells down the alley.

Anthony goes silent at that revelation, as he stares down at Emma’s bloody body. He knows he told Anthony what he was doing would save Rufus’ life, but he specifically never told him how. Anthony would have blown it and tipped Emma off some way or another, which is why he kept it from him.

He scrambles to his feet using the wall for support.

“I said get out of here!” his past-self yells again.

He knows he needs to, but his body is slow to react right now. He forces one foot in front of the other and stumbles back down the alley towards the street. He can feel the blood still trickling from his nose and his head feels like an elephant just sat on it. People stare at him as he fumbles his way through the town and towards the Lifeboat.

The journey takes everything he has. When he arrives, he barely has enough strength to remove the branches he used to camouflage the machine. He has to clear them away or he risks getting the branches caught and blowing the thing to smithereens. It won’t just kill him, it’ll strand the team in the past and he must ensure that doesn’t happen. 

He opens the hatch and crawls on his hands and knees. He’s in bad shape, but he wants to make one more jump. He concentrates with all his might as he enters the data into the auto-pilot. Once he does that, he straps himself in the pilot’s chair and pushes the jump button.

He knows killing Emma won’t solve all of Lucy’s problems, but it sure as hell solves a bunch of them. If he can make her happy, that’s all that matters at this point.


	29. San Francisco

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flynn faces the ultimate moral dilemma.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bring your tissues for this one. Sorry, but it's necessary for my vision of the ending to this story, which I will remind you is a happy one.

**_December 9, 2014, San Francisco, California_ **

The Lifeboat lands with a clunk and his body jerks around in the chair like a ragdoll. The jump abates some of the pressure and pain in his head, but it’s still present. He didn’t know if he’d make it here, but somehow, against all odds, he has. This mission is still important to him, but it’s not as important as the first two, which is why he saved it for last. This mission has no bearing on the war with Rittenhouse. It won’t change a thing when it comes to them, but he still needs to do it nevertheless. 

He also must be more mindful of his symptoms, because he _cannot_ die here or become incapacitated in any way. If he does, he’ll strand the team in 1848. Even though he’s not face-to-face with his past-self like he was in Missouri, he’s still traveling within his own timeline; the effects of which are only going to become more detrimental as time goes on. 

Since time is of the essence, he unbuckles his seat belt and practically slides out of the chair, even though he’s in no condition to stand right this second. He crawls on his hands and knees to the hatch, presses the button and waits for it to open. Once it does, he can tell he’s landed on the beach behind large sand dunes. It’s the best cover he’s going to be able to muster, so he prays no one wanders down there and finds the Lifeboat while he’s gone. 

He swings his legs over the door and gently lowers himself to the ground. He steadies himself on the Lifeboat and inhales a deep breath. He knows how risky this is, but he can’t stop himself from attempting this. 

He puts one foot in front of the other and stumbles through the sand towards the city. He needs to steal another car, because it’s too far to walk where he’s going. He finds a suitable vehicle a few minutes later and breaks the window with his elbow. He doesn’t have time to be stealthy about it.

It takes longer than it did last time to hot wire the vehicle, but he finally gets it started. He needs to concentrate on driving, since his vision is already blurry. The headlights from passing vehicles blind him constantly, as his head starts to thump harder than before. 

Every once in a while, he has to use his sleeve to wipe the blood dripping from his nose, though he doesn’t dare take his hands off the wheel when he does. It’s white-knuckle, iron-grip the entire drive. 

The silence of the drive causes his thoughts to race through his mind. He has conflicting feelings and he’s trying to convince himself he’s doing the right thing. He _knows_ he did the right thing when he went back and saved Lucy from that car accident, and he hopes he did the right thing my killing Emma in 1882. _But, is this the right thing? Is giving up on Lucy and letting her go the right thing?_

He tells himself that it has to be right. Lucy doesn’t love him in this lifetime. That, in and of itself, is a first for him. It’s the one inkling of hope that this curse may finally be broken. He’s confident once it is, their next life together will be filled with happiness and love. He just has to figure out how to break the curse first. He doesn’t even care if she never remembers all their lives together. She only needs to love him in the one they’re in. 

On the other hand, he misses Lorena and Iris. Maybe, just maybe, he can be with them in the afterlife for all eternity. He’d even settle for a little bit. Iris is the only child he has ever had and probably will ever have, and she was ripped away from him too soon and too brutally. _Does he warn Lorena? Does he tell her to take Iris and run? If he does, will his past-self wind up in São Paulo, or will he crumble before then if his girls take off without him? What if he doesn’t make it long enough for Lucy to find him with the journal? He can’t have his past-self go with Lorena and Iris if they run, because then he’ll definitely never meet Lucy and fight against Rittenhouse. He’s the only one who stood in their way for the longest time. If he abandons the fight, what type of world will he have to live in with Rittenhouse in control?_ _What kind of world is he condemning his daughter and wife to live in as well?_ Plus, if they try to run and hide as a family, it’ll be easier for Rittenhouse to hunt them down. In that scenario, they would all die and Rittenhouse would win again.

He’s never thought of himself as a hero; doesn’t even think it of himself now. It’s a role he’s reluctant to play, but play he must. If not him, who?

He’s starting to swerve slightly on the road, even though he’s gripping the wheel with all his might. His nosebleed is getting worse and so is his headache. His thoughts are hazy now as he approaches his destination, which creates its own set of problems. He must be able to think clearly so he can get the Lifeboat back to the team, whether he’s in it or not when he does. He still hasn’t made up his mind what he’s going to do. This whole thing is more a “wing it” type of mission to begin with. _Wyatt would love it._

As soon as he turns the corner and pulls down his street, another worry springs to mind. He curses himself for not thinking about this sooner. He’s pretty sure that he wouldn’t have missed this if he was thinking clearly. 

He checks the rear-view mirror, but doesn’t see an obvious tail. _What if Rittenhouse is watching his house already? They could kill his present or past-self right now and this fight would be over faster than a Mike Tyson bout._

As he approaches the next intersection, he stops at the stop sign, switches on his turn signal and turns right. He drives a little farther down, then finds a place to park on the street that runs parallel to his own. He parks the car as best he can, but his vision is getting worse and he’s half-way sticking out into the street. Regardless of that fact, he opens the car door and stumbles to his feet. To the untrained eye, he probably appears to be quite intoxicated at the moment, yet he’s pretty sure his neurological symptoms are more akin to a stroke at this point. 

He careens into the street, and barely misses being hit by a vehicle passing in the other direction. The blaring car horn snaps him momentarily back into reality. He knows he needs to move quicker. 

He makes it to the sidewalk and slinks into the shadows of the shrubs and trees lining the street. He decides he will approach the house from the back, which will hopefully serve to minimize any exposure if Rittenhouse is watching. If they are, they’re most likely watching the front door, since his past-self has no reason to currently surmise he’s under surveillance. 

His head is constantly on a swivel as he inches towards his home. Nothing seems out of place, but that doesn’t mean he can be any less vigilant. He hasn’t spotted anyone lurking among the shadows except for himself, so he creeps into his backyard. 

He needs to be as stealthy as possible, but his continued stumbling and increasingly unbearable pain are throwing wrenches into that plan. He attempts to stay as close to the hedges as possible, so he doesn’t set off the motion-activated flood light. First of all, it could potentially alert anyone watching the house that someone is attempting to enter the premises from the rear. Secondly, he risks his past-self mistaking him for an intruder and shooting at him. 

He doesn’t know how much longer he can endure this pain, so he has to make a move now if he wants to see them again. It’s around dinnertime, so he hopes to catch them in the kitchen or dining room. There’s only one problem with this plan. In order to get to the kitchen and dining room, he needs to cross the yard and go around to the side of the house. There’s only a small window of available space that won’t set off the motion-activated flood light, but he’s not sure he can thread the needle since he can barely stand at this point. 

The desire to see his wife and daughter again is overwhelming, though. This is what he came all this way for. It’s what he fights for. He’s not sure how he’ll feel once he sees them again, but he knows he _needs_ to see them. It’s either going to be paralyzing love and joy, or utter guilt and shame. Maybe, it’ll be all four.

He inhales a deep breath and braces for his sprint across the yard. It will be better if he moves slowly, but he knows he can’t stay here much longer. Being in such close proximity to his past-self for the second timeline in a row is killing him. He’s pretty sure of this fact, but it will not deter him in the slightest.

Knowing he’s short on time, he takes off across the yard, trying his best to stay out of the line of sight of the motion-sensor. He’s almost to the other side of the house when he stumbles slightly. He’s able to prevent himself from falling, but he sets off the sensor. The yard lights up with blinding illumination. Fortunately, he’s back in the shadows of the shrubs on the other side of the house. There’s no way anyone had enough time to spot him, or at least he hopes so.

He waits a couple of beats, then peeks his head in the kitchen window. His breath catches as he spies the bouncing beauty of Lorena’s curls. Her back is to him as she finishes preparing dinner. _She was always such a good cook. He’s actually shocked he didn’t gain more weight when they finally got together._

He hears her call out that it’s time for dinner. Her voice is an angelic melody from the heavens’ above; always so calm and comforting. Lucy may be his soulmate, but his heart has always been big enough for more than one person. He does love Lorena. He would never have gone through with the marriage if he hadn’t. 

His mind flashes through the six years they spent together. He was genuinely happy for the first time in a long time, and once again it was torn from him. He didn’t deserve her and she didn’t deserve to be collateral damage in a war she had no part in. But, he can’t change what’s about to happen. He wishes he could be that selfish. Most people would be. He’s not most people, though. 

It would be so easy to get lost in his memories right now. Luckily, Iris’ laughter redirects his attention to the dining room. As soon as Lorena leaves the kitchen, he slips by the window, clinging to the side of the house until he reaches the next window.

He can hear his past-self talking in a hushed tone. Iris’ giggles are music to his ears. He crouches down low in case his past-self or Iris happens to be looking in the direction of the window, then peers in. Lorena is carrying a bowl of salad to the table, as his past-self chases Iris around. 

He misses those days, those simpler times; times when they were safe, happy and healthy. It’s all about to come crashing down. The flashbacks of bullets flying and glass breaking haunts him to this day. Doubts creep back into his mind once again. _How will he be able to live with himself if he saves his daughter, but condemns the world in the process? How can he ever live with himself knowing he’s left Iris in a world where Rittenhouse controls everything and is allowed to run amok unchecked?_ He can’t, that’s how. As earth shattering as the memories of their murders are even to this day, he can’t change it. As much as he debated and agonized over this decision, he knows deep down it’s the correct one.

Suddenly, his legs start shaking and his heartrate increases tenfold. He feels something wet and sticky dripping down his neck. He wipes his hand in the general area and notices he’s bleeding from his ears now. He’s running out of time. His brain is telling him it’s time to go, but his heart is tugging him back. _Five more minutes_. The irony of him sounding just like Iris at bedtime is not lost on him and he chuckles at the thought. 

He watches intently for a few more minutes, until his vision is so blurry he can barely make them out. His head feels like it’s in a vice and his nose and ears are bleeding profusely at this point. 

He backs away from the window as quietly as he can, using the side of the house for support. His only goal is to make it back to the Lifeboat. Otherwise, this entire series of jumps will be useless. There is no way he can make it through his own yard without setting off the motion-sensor. He’s just moving way too slowly at the moment. So, he climbs over the neighbor’s fence and exits through their backyard instead. 

He somehow manages to make it back to his stolen car and gets it started. It terrifies him that he might not make it back to the ship. It also terrifies him that he could hit or kill someone on the way because he can barely see.

He squints his eyes as he leans forward in the seat. He pulls out into the street, striking the neighboring car’s side mirror as he does. He feels as if he’s going to pass out as he drives back towards the beach. He doesn’t care if he has to drag his decrepit ass to the ship by force of shear will. He’s is going to make it somehow, some way. 

As he approaches the beach, he momentarily forgets where the sand dunes are. He remembers at the last second and veers off the road, the car flying up the curb and into the grass. He slams the gear shift into park and thrusts the door open. 

As he goes to step out, his knee buckles and he tumbles out of the vehicle like a sack of potatoes. He rolls over and manages to get to his knees. He pushes himself into an upright position with both hands, wobbling back and forth as he tries to regain his footing. 

He spies the dunes in the distance and plods through the grass in their general direction. A few steps later, he falls forward down the slope, tumbling towards the beach. He whacks his head, back, arms and legs on multiple rocks along the way before finally coming to a thud at the bottom. 

He lies there in the coarse sand gasping for breath. Blood stings his eyes making it impossible to see. Every part of his body is crying out for release of the pain and he wants nothing more than to just lie here forever. 

“Flynn?”

“Lucy?” he whispers.

His eyes flash open and he scans the area for his beloved. There is no one there, though. He’s starting to hallucinate now and he needs to finish the last heroic task this life will throw his way. 

With Lucy dancing around his brain, he rolls over onto his stomach and pushes up on his hands and knees. With one final push, he’s able to stand. 

He fumbles blindly down the path leading to the sand dunes, falling two more times until he’s able to spot the Lifeboat in his blurry vision. The sand would be hard enough to navigate for a normal, healthy person, but the effects of traveling in his own timeline are causing it to be virtually impossible. 

He falls to his knees a third time, but cannot manage to stand again. The Lifeboat is so close right now, so he drags his body through the sand until his hands land upon hard metal. He has no idea how he’s going to get inside. He can’t stand and his strength is fading faster than a gale-force wind. Then he hears Lucy’s voice rattling around in his head again.

“Flynn, please.”

“Lucy!” he screams with an outstretched hand. “Lucy!”

He grips the side of the Lifeboat with shaking hands.

“Daddy. Daddy, help me!” Iris screams with a blood-curdling cry.

“Iris!”

Between Iris and Lucy’s screaming, he somehow summons the strength to pull himself up to the hatch. He flounders around, trying desperately to find the button to open it.

“Garcia,” the wind whispers.

He can’t make out whether the voice is Lucy or Lorena, but it doesn’t matter. He finally succeeds in finding the hatch button and the door hisses as it opens. He wipes the blood from his nose once more, but it’s an exercise in futility. He’s bleeding faster and more profusely than ever and he knows his time is coming to an end. 

He hauls his body head first over the lip of the hatch, leaving bloody fingerprints inside and out. He falls inside the Lifeboat with a thunderous thud, as his head whacks against the metal floor. 

As he crawls forward towards the console, he notices that he can no longer see out of his left eye. He needs to input the coordinates before his right eye goes as well. He stretches his arm up to the console and pulls his body up just enough that he can visualize the screens. He scrolls through the last few jump coordinates until he finds the coordinates for 1848. He resets them as the next jump coordinates, then stares down at his finger as it hovers over the jump button. 

He’s going to have to hurl his body from the Lifeboat the second he presses the button. If he doesn’t make it, his lifeless body will wind up back in 1848. He doesn’t want to inflict more pain and suffering upon Lucy, doesn’t want to give Jiya nightmares of her “creepy uncle” either. Wyatt wouldn’t give a damn and would probably kick his lifeless body out of the ship and jump home. No, he has to make it; channel his inner Jesse Owen or Carl Lewis and long-jump his way to death. It’s not the outcome he was hoping for, but it’s an outcome he knew was a possibility going in. He’s made his peace with it.

He slams his hand down onto the jump button just as he loses his vision in his right eye. He spins and flings his body towards the cool night air, hoping he doesn’t misjudge how wide the Lifeboat door actually is. He finds out a moment later, when his body crashes onto the ground. He lands face down, inhaling a mouthful of sand in the process. The Lifeboat whirrs and spins, the hatch door closes, and then poof, it’s gone. 

He rolls onto his back, bleeding and gasping for breath. The stillness in the night air is calming, the rhythm of the waves soothe him with their gentle lullaby. Now, he can relax as death comes for him. He can allow himself to indulge in all the hallucinations, all the memories. _It was all worth it, all of it; the pain, the sorrow, the tragedy, the loss_. All of it has happened for a reason, and he needs to trust that the universe knows what it’s doing, that all of this horror has some grand cosmic purpose.

Visions of Lorena dancing in his arms in her wedding gown bring a smile to his lips. The happy memories of their life surround him like a warm blanket on a snowy day. His thoughts drift to when he held Iris for the first time, staring down at this tiny miracle that he’d somehow created. It’s the happiest moment of all of his many lives, and he takes comfort in the fact that he will never lose it. Even if he can’t bring her back without dooming this entire world, he will never forget her, no matter how many more lifetimes he lives. 

Speaking of many lifetimes, flashes of his many lives with Lucy come flooding into his brain next. It never mattered to him which version or iteration of her he got to spend his life with. He loved them all, even if they were slightly different from the original. Different circumstances and situations shaped her during each lifetime, so it’s not really fair of him to compare them. Lucy is all of those things all of the time. She is as brave as a Viking, as clever as a pirate, and as unyielding as a Spartan. Yet, she is also so much more. 

He hopes and prays that his sacrifice will help the team finally rid this world of Rittenhouse once and for all. He also hopes that Lucy is able to lead a happy life. Whatever happens to him next, the knowledge that he did his best to try and spare her from being consumed by darkness and war is a comfort. 

His breathing is shallower now, a death rale evident. He can no longer trust his own brain or instincts, as reality’s thread has now been permanently severed. He hears a strange, yet familiar noise off in the distance, but doesn’t get the chance to decipher the origin before everything goes silent and black. He has the peculiar sensation of his body floating upward, yet it’s not as smooth as he would’ve imagined. 

There is nothing familiar about what is currently happening. It’s nothing like his past deaths. Every other time, he died and then was instantaneously reborn into his next life. The whole entire process only took a few moments. But now-now he’s stuck in some sort of limbo. He’s not transitioning into his next life, but this doesn’t exactly feel very heavenly either. If he really, truly was in the afterlife, wouldn’t a member of his family be waiting for him? He knows Lorena and Iris technically haven’t died yet, but his mother and father are both gone. Surely, one of them would greet him, right? _Is he even dead yet? He doesn’t feel anything at all. There is no pain anymore, just love and comfort._

“Flynn?”

_No, it can’t be. He’s hallucinating still._

“Flynn!”

The feeling of falling replaces the floating he felt previously, which just confuses him more. The only other time he’s ever felt like this has been when he’s been in one of the time ships. A second later, a jolt of pain shoots through him and he loses consciousness completely.


	30. Oakland

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucy and the team arrive back to a very different bunker.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please excuse any spelling or grammar errors. I honestly couldn't edit this one more time. If I did, I would never finish it.

As the Lifeboat lands back in the bunker from the Sutter’s Mill mission, the team is in a somber mood. Well, at least Lucy can say that about her and Jiya. Wyatt, not so much. She’s positive he’s glad to be rid of Flynn once and for all. 

When they returned to the ship only to find a letter addressed to her, she worried. _What sort of trouble did Flynn get himself into this time?_ Then, she read it and it confirmed her worst fears.

_Lucy,_

_If you are reading this, it means I wasn’t strong enough to make it back. You, as well as the rest of the team, deserve an explanation for abandoning you and stealing the Lifeboat, though. I figured out a way to save Rufus. I knew you would want to help, but it was too risky. You’re the heart and soul of this team, the glue that holds us together. I’m the outsider, the muscle, the one member you can afford to lose. That’s why it had to be me. But, before I did that, I had to save you first. Call it intuition, call it fate or destiny, but for some reason I had a sinking suspicion that the Titanic was not the first time I pulled you out of freezing water. I couldn’t leave it to chance. I had to make sure you were saved, which is probably the reason my time ran out. The side effects of multiple jumps must have been too much for me to bear. I just hope that what I’ve done is enough to save you and Rufus, and give the team the upper hand in its fight against Rittenhouse. You deserve a normal, happy life and I wish you nothing but the best. You saved my life more than once. You even saved me from myself. It’s only fitting that I do the same for you in the end._

_Love,_

_Flynn_

The Lifeboat hatch rotates open and Wyatt is the first to jump out.

“Rufus? Rufus!” he screams, as he practically sprints down the stairs toward the commander center.

At the mention of Rufus’ name, Jiya almost bowls her over in her effort to get out of the ship and see what Wyatt’s talking about with her own eyes. Lucy exits right behind her, but unlike her fellow team members, she stays on the stairs as if her feet are stuck in dry cement.

Sure enough, Rufus is sitting in one of the chairs in command central, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders and a box of tissues on the console next to him. 

“Hey, guys. I missed going on this mission too, but you act like you haven’t seen-”

He doesn’t get a chance to finish his sentence before Jiya grabs his face and kisses the living daylights out of him. He tugs on her arms and pulls back from her relatively quickly.

“Babe. _Babe!_ You’re gonna get the flu if you keep kissing me,” Rufus advises.

“Don’t care,” Jiya replies before diving back into him once again.

Lucy and Wyatt are still in shock to see their newly resurrected friend and struggle to get their thoughts out.

“How-how is this possible?” Wyatt stammers as he looks back to Lucy.

She’s silent for a beat. She knows the answer, but she can’t bear to say the words out loud. She didn’t read Wyatt and Jiya the letter that Flynn left for her. It was hard enough for her to read it once, let alone repeat it for them. All she told them was that they should head back to the bunker and she’d explain then.

Wyatt is still staring at her expecting some sort of response, so she takes a deep breath and prepares herself for the gravity of what she’s about to say.

“Flynn.”

“What?” Wyatt asks in confusion.

“Flynn. He did this,” she answers before closing her eyes tightly.

“Speaking of Flynn, where is he?” Rufus questions as he glances behind her.

Lucy and Jiya exchange a cautious look. She can tell Jiya is silently pleading with her to take it easy and explain everything to Rufus slowly. They don’t want to freak him out, yet the news of his untimely death most certainly will. Wyatt, on the other hand, decides he’s just going to rip the Band-Aid off so to speak. 

“God only knows. Dead in a ditch somewhere probably. Serves the bastard right for stranding us in 1848,” Wyatt replies with disdain.

“He did what?” Denise bellows from the hallway.

Wyatt proceeds to tell the story of their abandonment to Denise and the fact that Rufus is now back among the living. Naturally, Denise is pissed as hell that Flynn went rogue on them, but she’s more concerned that Rufus was formerly dead and none of them remember any of it.

“I was what?”

“Dead,” Jiya states in an almost-whisper.

“We can discuss this later. Connor, I need to immediately know where Garcia Flynn took this Lifeboat,” Denise commands.

Connor plugs the Lifeboat in and begins to download the jump log information. While they wait, Lucy’s mind is racing. She still cannot come to terms with the fact that Flynn did this; that he left her all alone. Of course she’s happy that Rufus is alive, but she didn’t want to have to lose someone else in order to get him back. She especially didn’t want to lose Flynn, the only person who got her on a deeper level, supported her unequivocally and showed her how strong she truly was. Her emotions are a yo-yo right now. She’s elated about Rufus, but utterly distraught over Flynn.

“According to the jump data, Flynn made three trips into the past before sending the Lifeboat back to 1848,” Connor informs them.

“Three?” the team asks in unison.

“He went from 1848 to November 26, 2003, Palo Alto, California. Then he jumped to April 2, 1882, Missouri, and finally December 9, 2014, San Francisco, California.”

“2014? Why would he have gone there? If he went back to kill Jess, he should’ve been in 2012, not 2014,” Wyatt questions.

No one utters a word, so of course Wyatt finds a way to make the situation worse.

“That idiot went to the wrong year.”

Lucy shakes her head no. Flynn isn’t an idiot. He didn’t go to the wrong year.

“He went to see his family. They died in 2014,” she mutters.

“Guess he failed to save them again,” Wyatt states with a smug smirk.

Lucy shoots daggers at him. _Please make this asshole shut his mouth. He’s really not helping right now._

“What happened in Palo Alto in 2003?” Jiya questions.

They’re all looking at her, as she desperately runs through historical events in her brain. Clearly, she’s not thinking correctly right now, because she’s coming up empty.

“Lucy?” Denise asks with concern.

_“Call it intuition, call it fate or destiny, but for some reason I had a sinking suspicion that the Titanic was not the first time I pulled you out of freezing water.”_

Suddenly, it hits her. Her accident. Her hands immediately shoot up to her mouth.

“Are you alright?” Rufus questions.

“I know why he went. November 26, 2003, was the date I had my accident and almost drowned. Someone pulled me from the river that night, but I never knew his identity… his _true_ identity until now. They told me his name was Rowe, but I could never find him to thank him.”

“Isn’t that the alias Flynn used to get in good with Washington?” Rufus asks.

She doesn’t answer him verbally, just nods her head.

“It was him all along,” she states in shock. “He saved my life.”

She backs up until her heels hit the metal stairs. She trips over her own feet and plops down hard on her butt. No wonder she felt such a connection with Flynn the first time they met (well, the first time she remembers anyway). She can’t believe it, yet she knows in her heart that it’s one-hundred percent true. 

In any event, until she can wrap her head around all of this, she’s going to concentrate on Rufus. She stands and closes the gap between herself and the rest of the team. Tears gather in her eyes, as she rushes towards Rufus. Jiya steps aside to allow her to hug him fiercely.

“Jiya, what happened? How did I die?” Rufus asks her pleadingly, as Lucy still clings to him.

“Emma shot you in Chinatown,” Jiya replies with a frown.

“Chinatown? We never went to Chinatown. And, Emma who?”

“Emma Whitmore. You know, the red-headed sleeper agent from hell,” Wyatt explains.

“Oh, her. Wow, I haven’t thought about her in eons. She died in 1882. Flynn figured out she was a sleeper agent before he brought her back to the present and killed her,” Rufus replies in confusion.

It takes a moment, but it finally dawns on Lucy, Wyatt and Jiya exactly what Flynn did on his second jump. In their defense, none of them are exactly thinking straight right now either.

“In our timeline, Flynn brought her back from Missouri. She worked with him for a while before she turned the Mothership over to Rittenhouse. We’ve been fighting her ever since,” Lucy adds.

“Don’t take my word for it. Ask Anthony yourselves when he gets back. He was with him.”

“What? Anthony’s alive?” she asks in shock.

“Last time I checked he was,” Denise states with wary eyes. “Lucy, how much has changed for the three of you?”

“Apparently, a lot!” she shrieks at the top of her lungs, as tears stream down her face.

She takes a few steps back, then shakes her head and strolls back over to the stairs. Her back is to the team, as she tries in vain to stop crying. Everything is upside down and different and the one person who could help her navigate all these changes is gone.

She comes to the realization that hiding is futile, so she turns back around and takes a seat. She tries to tell herself that none of this is real, that Flynn is still somewhere in the past waiting for her to come and get him. She can hear the rest of the team continuing their conversation, but she can only concentrate on Flynn. Sadness, anger, and feelings of betrayal surge through her. _Why? Why did he do this?_ She cannot comprehend it on any level. They would’ve found a way to save Rufus without sacrificing another team member. She knows they would have.

“You foolish, foolish man,” she mutters to herself.

Suddenly, she spies a pair of shoes standing directly in front of her. She lifts her head and finds Denise hovering over her.

“I’m so sorry, Lucy. I know how close you and Flynn were.”

“You do?” she responds, as she raises her eyebrows in confusion.

“Well, I know how close you were in _this_ timeline,” Denise corrects.

They were close in her timeline too. In fact, she was finally coming to terms with the notion that she may have romantic feelings for him, maybe even was falling in love with him. She was just so gun-shy after Wyatt. She couldn’t take another rejection or having her heart broken again, so she kept Flynn in the friend zone.

“How close were we here?” she asks.

She regrets the words the second she states them. None of this will be helpful right now. She’s definitely in the first stage of grief: denial. 

“Lucy…”

“Please, Denise. I need to know.”

She’s not sure why she does, but she does.

“Well, I didn’t ask for specifics, but I know that you spent all your time together. You were always partners on missions and you lived in the same room. Plus, you both made googly-eyes at each other when you thought the other wasn’t looking,” Denise reveals.

“Oh.”

It’s the only thing she can manage to utter.

“By your reaction, I’m guessing that’s another change.”

“Just the living in the same room part,” she answers honestly. “Although, I did sleep in there a couple of times. I think it was heading in that direction.”

She can’t say for certain whether Flynn snuck looks at her when _she_ wasn’t looking, but she knows it’s true for her part. She never denied the fact that she thought he was attractive, but she never admitted it to anyone and especially not Flynn.

“I’ll do my best to see if I can find out what happened to him,” Denise states as she pats her hand in a motherly fashion.

An awkward silence falls between them, before she hears the distinctive whoosh of a time machine. Her hopes that Flynn has somehow made it back to the bunker, back to her, even though she knows rationally that it’s impossible, are dashed in an instant when the Mothership appears.

Wyatt instinctively pulls his weapon and Jiya jumps in front of Rufus to protect him. The hatch opens a second later and Dave Baumgardner pokes his head out. 

“Bam Bam?” Wyatt asks with wide eyes.

“What the hell Logan? Get the damn stairs!” Bam Bam yells.

Wyatt stares back with his mouth agape, stuck in shock over seeing another one of his friends who have miraculously risen from the dead.

“Oh, for bloody hell!” Connor declares with a huff, as he pushes the rolling stairs to the Mothership.

She’s also in shock when she spies Bam Bam, but she gets an even _bigger_ shock when the next person exits the Mothership after him. _It can’t be. There’s just no way._

“Amy?”

“Luce, next time, I’m coming with you. I’m getting really tired of bailing this idiot out of danger,” Amy laughs as she punches Bam Bam in the shoulder.

“How the hell was I supposed to know _grandma_ was packing?” Bam Bam quips in response.

“Amy? Is-is that-is that really you? Is this really happening?”

Amy strides right over to her and places both hands on her shoulders.

“You alright?” Amy asks as she inspects her.

Her body starts to shake as she reaches out to touch her sister. As soon as her hand makes contact with a solid figure, she faints.

Lucy wakes back up in her room in the bunker. _Was it all just another dream?_ She feels conflicted, because she wants Amy to be real more than anything, but she wants Flynn to be alive just as much. 

She sits up in the cot and gazes around the room. It’s the same room that she used to share with Jiya before she told Rufus he could sleep there, except none of her things are here. They aren’t Rufus’ things either. They definitely belong to a woman.

There’s a knock on the door a second later, but it opens before she can tell whoever is there to come in. Amy strides into the room, then shuts the door behind her. She sits down next to her on the bed, a look of clear concern written across her face. Lucy launches herself at her sister and pulls her into a large, bear hug.

“Luce, you’re hurting my ribs.”

“Sorry,” she apologizes, as she pulls back to meet her sister’s eyes. “How-how are you here?”

“Well, the short version of the story is that you went back in time and made sure Mom and Dad met. When you came back to the present, I was back; although, I have no memory of ever being gone. You were just as freaked out as you are now, minus the fainting,” Amy informs her.

“But-but Emma said that she made sure I’d never be able to get you back.”

“Lucy, Flynn killed Emma a long time ago. I was under the impression that you never met her,” Amy advises.

 _Never met her?_ The magnitude of what Flynn has done finally hits her. If he doesn’t rescue Emma from 1882, she can never betray him and turn the Mothership over to Rittenhouse. If Rittenhouse never gets their hands on the Mothership, they can’t go back and resurrect Jessica Logan. With no Jessica in the bunker, Jiya isn’t kidnapped and stranded in the past. If Jiya’s never kidnapped, there’s no rescue mission to Chinatown, ergo no Rufus dying. If Emma doesn’t get a hold of the Mothership, she can’t go back and make it impossible for Lucy to get Amy back, or bring back Nicholas Keynes, or shoot her mother. _Holy hell, he did it! He actually did it!_

“Amy, how are you here in the bunker?”

“What do you mean? I’m on TT2.”

“TT2?” she questions as her brows furrow.

“Time Team 2.”

“What? I’m sorry, Ames, but this is completely different from the world I left. None of this is making sense. Bear with me, please,” she pleads.

“Time Team 2 consists of myself, Bam Bam and either Anthony or Jiya as our pilot. They rotate Jiya between the teams to give Rufus and Anthony a break. You’ve got your team and I’ve got mine.”

“You’re going on missions? Your team doesn’t even have a historian. How can you…”

“I’ve been going on missions since I became part of this team. And, we don’t need a historian. You give us the name of the sleeper agent and Bam Bam and I go and take care of them,” Amy replies nonchalantly.

Lucy’s eyes widen, as she shakes her head in disbelief. She knows this is indeed her baby sister, but the fact that she’s also living in the bunker and traveling through time is blowing her mind.

“What, you think you’re the only Preston sister that gets to have any fun?” Amy jokes.

“How-how is that possible? How are there sleeper agents if Emma never stole the Mothership? Also, I don’t know who the sleeper agents are ahead of time!” she exclaims, as the frustration of learning a new present sets in.

“Yes, you do. We have the entire Rittenhouse member list, thanks to you. As for the sleeper agents, Connor allowed Rittenhouse to make a few ‘unscheduled’ jumps into the past at the end of their ‘testing’ phase.”

“ _What?_ ”

Her head is spinning like she’s on the teacups ride at Disneyland right now. Amy explains that between the information her grandfather, Ethan Cahill, was able to gather over the years and the member list that the Doc provided her, they know who every last one of the sleeper agents are. 

“I remember the Doc from the Watergate mission, but she never gave me the list.”

Amy relays that they made another jump to 1972 and met up with the Doc in San Diego before she escaped to China. She’s the one who apparently convinced the woman to write down the entire list. She used some of Ethan’s information to confirm that she was truly on Doc’s side and wouldn’t betray her to Rittenhouse. 

Amy then informs her that the missions now mostly consist of taking care of the sleeper agents in the past, while Agent Christopher uses Ethan’s intelligence to arrest the Rittenhouse members in the present.

“When-when did you join the team?” she questions, as her brain tries to grapple with all this new information.

“After Mom died. Some creepy old guy approached us at Mom’s funeral and you wigged out. Later that night, you told me that was your biological father, Benjamin Cahill. You didn’t tell me about Rittenhouse or the bunker or even time travel at first. It wasn’t until I thought someone was following me one night that you finally explained everything. You were afraid Cahill would kidnap me, or worse, hurt me and use it to manipulate you into joining them. So, you brought me down into the bunker. It took me a little bit to get Denise to trust me, but eventually she caved. Plus, I do have a black belt in karate, so she let me be a part of the second team, despite your _fervent_ protestations.”

“You might know karate, but you don’t know how to be a soldier. What do you think you’re doing?” she demands.

“Correction, Lucy. I _didn’t_ know how to be a soldier, but I do now.”

She’s still in shock about, well _everything._ She listens intently as Amy explains that Flynn and Bam Bam taught her how to shoot and fight.

“Flynn taught you?”

“Well, it sure as hell wasn’t Wyatt,” Amy laughs. “Bam Bam taught me a few things as well, but yeah, it was mostly Flynn.”

“What’s your problem with Wyatt?” she questions.

Amy rolls her eyes and leans her head against the wall.

“How long do you have?”

“He’s not _that_ bad, Ames.”

“He’s a selfish, manipulative dick and nothing you say can convince me otherwise. Plus, I don’t like how he treats you _at all_ ,” Amy answers.

She can’t really argue with her about most of it, though this timeline’s Wyatt could be different than her timeline’s Wyatt. She wonders if they ever got together in this timeline, since there was no miraculous return of Jessica, but it really doesn’t matter in the grand scheme of things. She has no feelings towards Wyatt other than friendship.

“So, if you’re living here, why aren’t we bunking together?” she asks, as she gestures to the room.

“We did originally, but to be honest, you were getting on my last nerves with all your hovering. I swear, you were watching me while I slept like some helicopter parent. It took a while, but I finally managed to convince you I wasn’t just going to disappear into thin air. Plus, who am I to get in the way of true love?” Amy jests.

“True love?”

“ _Please_. We all know that you and Flynn are crazy about each other. It’s not exactly a secret around here.”

She learns that apparently after smothering Amy to death during the initial period when she came back, she spent most of her nights in Flynn’s room. So, Amy convinced Agent Christopher to get a second cot, which she put into Flynn’s room. Jiya and Amy share this room, Anthony shares a room with Connor (which Connor is _thrilled_ about), and Rufus, Wyatt and Bam Bam share the other. The bunker was already crowded before, but now with all these extra people crammed into it, she can understand why she sought out Flynn. He’s her solace in any timeline, apparently.

The mere mention of his name causes her eyes to fill with tears. She can’t believe what he’s done. She can’t believe he’s gone. She’ll never get to stay up late drinking and talking with him; never be able to feel his warm, strong hands hug her when she’s feeling down; never be able to have another one of their patented silent conversations; never get to tell him she has romantic feelings for him, yet she’s been too scared to do anything about it. 

Her only consolation is that he’s with his girls again. It’s not lost on her that the only person who was always on the right side of this war, is the one who has lost and sacrificed everything. And, he did it so that they could all have a chance at their own happily-ever-afters. He’s a hero in every sense of the word, yet the world will never know his name, never know how much he gave and never know what he’s done to save them all.

Amy hugs her instinctually, as she can no longer hold back the tears. She sobs uncontrollably into her sister’s arms as she repeats “he can’t be gone,” over and over again.

“Lucy, I’m so, so sorry. I’ll miss him too. We became good friends through this whole mess.”

She cries for what feels like an eternity, until there’s another knock on the door. Amy gets up and answers it. A few seconds later, she looks up to find Denise standing there with an envelope in her hand.

“What’s that?” she manages to ask between sobs.

“It was delivered to my home a while ago. A note was attached asking that I give this to you if something should happen to Flynn,” Denise explains, as she hands the envelope to her.

“Did you try and find out what happened to him?”

“I did, Lucy. I even checked through autopsy photos of the John Does in the area. I can’t find Flynn anywhere, but Connor is still running facial recognition programs.”

Her unsteady hands shake as she takes the envelope. She opens it to find a handwritten letter addressed to her. As she opens the letter, a metallic object falls to the floor. She bends down and picks it up. 

“What’s this?”

“It looks like a key,” Denise answers plainly.

“I know that! Why does Flynn want me to have this and what does it open?” Lucy questions aloud.

She gazes down at the key in her hands. It’s not a normal door key, that’s for sure. It has an ornate handle with a heart-shaped scrollwork and an oddly-shaped end. It has the superficial appearance of being old, but as she inspects it closer, she can tell it’s just made to appear that way. 

She can’t bring herself to read the letter just yet. She just holds it in her hands and stares at the key, her mind racing as to what it could belong to. Finally, she gets up enough nerve to read the words he left for her. Perhaps he will explain everything.

_Dear Lucy,_

_If you are reading this letter, it can only mean that I am gone. I need you to know that your friendship and counsel were precious to me. Your compassion and caring saved my life and my humanity._ _Since I have no family left in this world, except for a half-brother I never knew, I am leaving you the few material possessions that I own, since they are as precious as you are._ _To ensure you’re the only one able to access these items, I’ve encoded the location below. I’m confident that you’re smart enough to figure it out. After all, you’re a genius, remember?_ _I hope with all my heart that you have a happy life, because you of all people deserve it._

_All my love,_

_Flynn_

_I reside amongst the ashes, surrounded by privilege and wealth. Fog and smoke clutter the air, yet I remain untainted by them. I deign and dwell in darkness, until light uncovers me._

She sobs even more uncontrollably now, as the page slips from her fingers to the cot. Amy picks up the letter and reads it, then pulls her sister into another embrace. 

“Does it say anything about the key?” Denise questions.

She can only shake her head in response. She has no idea how she’s supposed to figure this out, since she’s not feeling very genius-like at the moment. 

“I have no idea where to begin,” she cries.

She feels completely alone and helpless, though she’s not. She has her sister and Rufus back, which she will be eternally grateful for, but if anyone could help her figure this out, it would be Flynn. 

“Why don’t we see if Rufus or Jiya can help us?” Amy suggests.

She would love nothing more, but she has a sinking suspicion Jiya has other ideas about occupying Rufus’ time. _They won’t see the two of them for days._

Lucy doesn’t remember responding, but suddenly finds herself sitting at the kitchen table with her sister and Denise. Connor is sitting at the command center, running through facial recognition programs trying to find out what happened to Flynn. 

Some immediate suggestions as to what the note means are made, but she dismisses them. Flynn wouldn’t make it that easy, she knows this much. They decide to take each sentence and try to make sense of it that way.

“The first sentence, ‘I reside amongst the ashes, surrounded by privilege and wealth.’ Does anyone have any ideas?” she questions.

“It could mean the location is in an underprivileged neighborhood that’s surrounded by a more affluent one,” Denise suggests.

“That might make sense since Flynn was a fugitive from the law when he did this,” Amy chimes in.

“Possibly, but where do we start? It’s not like there aren’t a number of them,” she replies.

“What about the second sentence? Maybe we can figure out what that means,” Amy advises.

“Fog and smoke clutter the air, yet I remain untainted by them,” Lucy mutters. “I’m assuming that means it’s contained in some type of air-tight container. And the next line, ‘I deign and dwell in darkness until light uncovers me.’ I think it means it’s in some type of safe or lock box,”

“Makes sense given the key,” Denise replies.

“For a bunch of _very_ smart people, you’re all going about this the wrong way,” Connor chides from the command center.

“Oh, and you have a better way?” Denise condescends.

“Technology is _always_ a better way. The key belongs to a humidor,” Connor responds with a ton of smugness.

The entire team snaps their heads in Connor’s direction. He turns the laptop he was working on around. Photos of keys that look similar to the one Flynn left her grace the screen.

“Now, you just need to figure out where the humidor is,” Connor adds.

Lucy rereads the letter.

“Connor, can you look up if there are private cigar bars or clubs in the San Francisco area?”

Her brain is starting to reenter genius mode and the clues come together perfectly. She can hear Connor typing away on the laptop. _Why would Flynn choose a place like this?_ As soon as she thinks it, she answers herself. _Well, I guess he couldn’t exactly waltz into a bank and open a safety deposit box while he was a wanted terrorist, now could he?_

That also brings up another pressing question in her mind. If he was on the run when he did this, what caused him to believe she would ever become close enough to leave his possessions to? Perhaps he did it in the hopes they would one day work together like the journal said, and wrote the letter he sent to Denise at a later time after they _did_ have a friendship.

“There are multiple cigar bars, but only two private clubs,” Connor apprises.

Everyone stares at her expectantly, waiting for her to immediately know where this box is. She closes her eyes, takes a deep breath and tries to channel her best Garcia Flynn. _Where would he choose? The man is a meticulous planner, he would be no different when it came to this._

“Do any of the private clubs have members that were Rittenhouse?” she questions.

“The Occidental Cigar Club did,” Connor responds with a bright smile.

“We need to go there. That’s where it is,” she insists with a confident air.

“Lucy, we still haven’t rounded up all the members of Rittenhouse in the present yet. You can’t just wander around San Francisco unprotected,” Denise orders.

“She won’t be unprotected. I’m going with her,” Amy announces, as she stands up from the table.

“I’m going with you as well,” Denise adds. “A federal badge might be helpful if they won’t let you access it.”

Lucy jumps up from the table, a smile appearing on her face.

“Well, let’s go!”

“Uh, Lucy,” Connor interjects.

“Yeah?”

“You may want to freshen up a bit first.”

She glances down and notices that she’s still in her dirty, old west clothes from the mission.

“Right. Give me a few minutes to shower and change and then we can go.”

When they arrive at the Occidental, they’re promptly informed that if they do not know the name of the account holder and are not on an approved list of individuals from the account holder, there is nothing they can do for them.

“But, I have the key,” Lucy whines.

“Doesn’t matter unless you have the requisite information,” the manager replies staunchly.

Denise whips her badge out and shoves it into the manager’s face.

“This is a matter of national security. I need access to this box,” Denise demands.

“Unless you have a warrant ma’am, there’s nothing I can do.”

Denise is incensed by this. 

“Check under Garcia Flynn then,” Agent Christopher orders.

“No!” Lucy yells, as she places her hand on Denise’s forearm. 

There is no way he would have put the box under his real name for fear the government would have confiscated it.

“Check under Austin Roe.”

The manager huffs, but checks his computer anyway.

“And, you would be?”

“Lucy Preston.”

The manager begins typing furiously, then looks at her strangely.

“Is there a problem?” she questions.

“No ma’am, there is not. You are on the approved list of individuals granted access and your photo matches the one on file. Please, come with me,” the manager advises as he opens a door to a back room.

Amy and Denise trail behind Lucy, but the manager stops them.

“I’m sorry, ladies. I can only allow Miss Preston inside.”

They both gaze over at her with a worried look on their faces. 

“I’ll be fine,” she replies with a wave of her hand.

She steps through the doorway and follows the manager down a narrow hallway to another room. He unlocks the door with his key card and steps through, as she follows closely behind. The room is full of wooden boxes from floor to ceiling almost. Each box has a keyhole and a temperature control gauge on the front.

“Box 207 is right here,” the manager informs her. “There are courtesy bags over there if you wish to remove any of the contents.”

She nods her head and thanks the manager, but waits until he leaves the room before she inserts the key. She takes a deep breath and turns it. The humidor opens and she spots another light-colored wooden box with golden hinges inside. She extracts the box from the locker and takes a seat on the small, wooden bench in the room. There’s another lock on this box, but it doesn’t have a keyhole. Instead, it has a combination lock. She’s not even sure she can categorize it as that either, given that there are letters instead of numbers. _Crap. Another puzzle for her to solve._

Lucy decides to place the entire box into the courtesy bag. It’s probably better not to linger here anyway. She’ll take it back to the bunker and open it there, if she can actually figure out the correct letters that open it.

She rushes back out to the front where Amy and Denise are anxiously awaiting her.

“I got it, let’s go,” she whispers.

“What was it?” Amy questions curiously.

“Later,” she answers as she looks around nervously.

Both Denise and Amy seem to sense her uneasiness, so they leave the Occidental Club and climb back into the car. She informs them what was inside and about the problem with the other lock.

As soon as they arrive back at the bunker, she heads straight for Flynn’s room. She’s hoping there’s some sort of hint or clue in there staring her in the face. Amy joins her a second later. She tries every combination of five letter words that she can think of, but nothing is right. _What the hell, Flynn? You couldn’t have given me a hint?_ _Or did he?_

“Let me see that letter again,” she barks at Amy.

Amy hands her Flynn’s letter and she reads it over again, searching for a clue. _That clever man!_ The answer has been right in front of her this entire time. 

“Until _light_ uncovers me!” she shrieks with happiness.

“What?” Amy questions in confusion.

She doesn’t respond, just grabs the box and begins to spell out the word light. Once the last T is in place, she hears the lock click. She flings the lid up and spots a bunch of random items inside. Amy leans over and rests her chin on Lucy’s shoulder.

“So, what did he leave you?” Amy questions.

She picks up the first thing that sticks out: a silver bracelet that’s shaped like a snake. It’s ornately carved and she can tell that the piece of jewelry is very old, possibly even from antiquity. _How did he get this? Why would this bracelet be precious to him?_

Suddenly, she gets a sharp pain in her head. Then, a flash of pictures run through her brain as if she’s watching a movie unfold. The problem is, she happens to be the star in this particular movie. It feels so realistic, but she has no memory of any of it. Images of her wearing this bracelet, as she cheers on the gladiators in the colosseum in _Ancient Rome,_ seem more real to her right now than any weird dream ever could. 

“Lucy? Lucy!” Amy yells. “What is it?”

“I-I’m not sure. When I picked up this bracelet, I had flashes of myself wearing it…in _Ancient Rome!”_

“What? Did you guys go to Rome in your timeline?”

“No. Did you?”

Amy nods no.

“I don’t understand it at all,” she mutters.

Amy takes the bracelet out of her hand and inspects it, as Lucy grabs another item from the box. It’s a piece of paper, written in beautiful calligraphy. As she reads the contents, she realizes that it’s a love letter. _Why would Flynn save a love letter from an anonymous admirer to some woman named Louise?_

Another jolt of pain hits her head, before her brain begins to go through another series of pictures. The flashes show her reading these love letters over and over again. Once more, she’s not in modern times. It’s not Ancient Rome, but based upon the style of her dress, she’s positive it’s the Regency period.

 _What the hell is going on here? Every time she touches an item, she gets these flashes. Are they missions from a timeline she’s unaware of? Are they past lives?_ None of this is making any sense at all.

She plucks another item out of the box. It’s a large shard of ancient Greek pottery; that much, is unmistakable to her. As she skims her finger along the surface, another flash hits her like a brick. This flash is much more vivid than the last two. The strongest of these memories is of her dropping an urn that looks very similar to the pottery shard, then running as fast as she can into the waiting arms of a handsome man. The man, surprisingly, looks a hell of a lot like Flynn.

 _Great! Now her brain’s breaking down and she’s hallucinating things._

She drops the pottery shard into her lap and stares off into space. This is just…wild. She has no other descriptor for it. _Could this be possible? Is she remembering past lives with Flynn?_

She digs back into the box and pulls out two silver coins.

“Coins?” Amy questions.

She stares at them intently.

“Pieces of eight,” she corrects.

“What?”

“They’re called pieces of eight, because they were worth eight Spanish reales,” she informs her sister.

Another episode happens then, and she has flashes of working in a saloon during the age of piracy. The woman in the memory flash looks a lot like Jiya, which shocks her even more. Jiya looks as if she’s been beaten, which makes her furious. Then, Flynn appears again from nowhere, seeming to protect both her and Jiya from whatever is going on here. The last flash is quicker. She and Jiya are fleeing an island in a small boat, with a chest of pieces of eight with them.

There’s also another coin in the box, but it’s different that the reales. She picks it up, but doesn’t instantly recognize it. The coin is older than the pieces of eight and the only symbol she can distinguish is a Templar cross. The flash this time hurts like hell and she doubles over in pain.

“Lucy!”

She raises her hand. “I’m okay, Ames. I think this is just something I need to do. Every time I pick up one of these items, I’m getting flashes of times and places that I don’t ever remember going to, yet I feel as if I were there at some point.”

“What? Like you’re remembering past lives or something?” Amy asks.

“I-I think I am.”

“So, what does this represent?” Amy questions as she points to the Templar coin in her hand.

She squeezes the coin in her hands and concentrates. This flash takes her to medieval times, riding along on horseback with a Templar knight in chain mail riding in front of her. As he turns back to speak to her, she notices that the knight is Flynn. _My god, how many lives did they have together before this one?_ _Were they always friends or did they mean more to each other in the past?_

“France. Medieval France. Flynn was a Templar in that lifetime,” she explains to Amy.

She puts down the coin and reaches into the box once more. The next item she finds is a small, ivory carving of a wolf. The wolf’s head is in an upward position as it howls at the moon. Her prior question about what they were to each other in different lifetimes is quickly answered as soon as her fingers glaze over the ivory. The memory consists of her in the woods with a man on top of her kissing her neck. As the man lifts his head, there is no mistake who he is, even in the pale moonlight. They passionately make love and she can almost feel how much these two people love each other. She knows they’re not themselves, not Garcia Flynn and Lucy Preston, but they look just like these people. It’s hard for it to not be confusing. She doesn’t know where or when they are in this one, but it doesn’t really matter. All that matters is that they continue to find each other in life after life. _No wonder she felt such a connection when she met him in the burning wreckage of the Hindenburg._

She puts the wolf back into the box and finds another item.

“Is this an axe necklace?” she questions as she holds it up in the air.

“No. It’s Thor’s hammer,” Amy replies nonchalantly.

“What? How do you know that?” she asks with surprise written across her face.

“Because unlike my super nerdy sister, I’ve actually seen a Marvel movie. Thor’s hot, don’t judge!”

The silver hammer is intricately carved with Viking runes and circular patterns. It’s quite beautiful in her opinion. She hands the necklace to Amy.

“Will you put it on for me?” she asks, as she lifts up her hair.

Amy fastens the necklace and she stares down at it. The metal is cool against her chest. As soon as she put it on, a strange calmness falls over her. It feels as if a missing piece of her soul is being restored as we speak.

“Viking,” she mutters aloud.

“ _You,_ were a Viking?” Amy questions in disbelief.

She closes her hand around the hammer. Her mind takes her back to a small hut. She lies in a bed of furs, clearly gravely wounded. She has a large tattoo on her thigh and a few others that she can visibly see. _Well, this is different to say the least._ The door to the hut opens and he walks in. His hair is longer than normal and he speaks in a language she does not understand. Another man enters behind him, yet she can understand this man perfectly fine. Eventually, she figures out he’s translating what she’s saying back to Flynn, or this version of him. 

“Luce? What about the Vikings?” Amy asks again.

“I-I was one. But, Flynn…he was…something else.”

She puts her hand in the box and grabs the last item inside. It’s the smallest of all the items, which is why she probably missed it until now. She looks down at her fingers to find a beautiful, gold ring, with diamonds surrounding an emerald in the center. It’s _very_ old; older than anything else in the box. 

“Wow!” Amy exclaims.

“Not sure that even covers it, Ames.”

She puts the ring on her finger. It’s a perfect fit. _Oh, Flynn._ The memories are so intense this time, she lies back on the cot. The flashes come in furious waves, like a hurricane bashing the shoreline. Every moment, every stolen look between them, every kiss. It’s all back. 

“Oh, my god!” she exclaims, as she clasps her hand to her mouth.

“What? What is it?” Amy demands.

“I-I just lost my soulmate…again.”

“Oh, Lucy. I’m so sorry.”

She cries again for a few minutes, until she sits up straight as an arrow.

“I have a time machine.”

“Yeah, that’s not exactly news around here, Luce.”

“I have a time machine!” she shrieks again, this time even louder.

She snaps her head towards Amy.

“I can save him. But, I’m gonna need your help. Plus, I just got you back. I’m not losing either of you,” she declares, as she hugs her sister fiercely.

“What do you need me to do?” Amy questions enthusiastically.

She explains her plan. They’ll need to wait until the rest of the bunker is asleep, so Lucy decides to freshen up in the meantime. _She needs to look her best when she reunites with her soulmate._

Once they are sure everyone is asleep, they sneak into the Lifeboat. She’s never been more thankful for her future-self showing up with this auto-pilot upgrade. Otherwise, she’d never be able to do this without a pilot.

Amy inputs the jump data she collected from the computer, as Lucy stows her box from Flynn in the floorboards of the machine. She’s not losing these memories again. 

They plan to land as soon as Flynn sends the Lifeboat back to 1848. Amy grabs her hand, as they both strap themselves in.

“You ready, sis?” Amy asks.

She nods her head in affirmation.

“Alright, then. Let’s go save Garcia Flynn.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out the contents of the box in Chapter 30 of my "Immortally Yours Moodboards."

**Author's Note:**

> Pankration is a combination of wrestling and boxing, where anything goes, except for biting, gouging and attacking the genitals.
> 
> Check out my Tumblr for each new chapter's moodboard (chapter one should be up shortly).


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